


when you fell from snow

by asdfghakunamatata



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Abandonment, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Depression, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Heavy Angst, Hurt Kim Hongjoong, Hurt Park Seonghwa, Mental Health Issues, Mentioned Stray Kids Ensemble, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Recovery, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Swearing, Violence, based on hongjoong's christmas cover, bcos we nurture love in this household, i dont know why, im so sorry my bbys pt 2, its me i need a hug, lots of swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:28:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28262385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asdfghakunamatata/pseuds/asdfghakunamatata
Summary: “Careful what you ask for, Hwa,” Hongjoong warns, shifting his body away so that Seonghwa could only see the frame of his frail back. “There’s a reason why people don’t like me.”“And why is that?”It was that stupid smile again. The kind of smile that saw too many heartbreaks, plastered artificially across Hongjoong's face.“Because, everyone likes the mystery, Hwa, but no one’s prepared for the mess underneath.”Hongjoong has a habit of punishing the world with his cantankerous attitude. He swears uncaringly at people, picks fights he can't win and does what he likes because he simply can.But underneath the misanthropy, Seonghwa's the only one who hears his cry for help.
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Kang Yeosang, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 65
Kudos: 114





	1. kill me softly like falling snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shanghai yalls, im back with another fic :3
> 
> this was meant to be a quick light and fluffy one (based on my bby joong's latest cover. all the softness in that video ugh) before i started something heavier but i started writing suddenly the plot became thicker than i imagined... whoops.
> 
> so, here we are, with another heavy fic yall need to note the trigger warnings with!! again, we're cutting into some dark, dark areas with this story so please take note of the tags!! I'll insert trigger warnings at the start of every chapter like i did with my other work, so do take note!!
> 
> otherwise, i really hope you'll enjoy the story!! please leave kudos and comments at the end because they really help me feel more confident to write and post!!
> 
> without further ado, enjoy~
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS // SUICIDAL THOUGHTS / DESCRIPTION OF BLOOD AND VIOLENCE

What was so mesmerising about the first fall of snow?

Hongjoong didn’t get it.

They were just tiny specks of glitter that floated down to earth every year, barely noticeable to the eye unless you were really squinting for them. When they started to pile up and decorating the landscape with a sheet of pure white, masking the greenery they’d had at every other season.

So why did people make such a big deal about it?

The weather forecasted no such prediction for snow, but Hongjoong should’ve suspected it when the air dropped ten degrees below freezing when he left the house earlier. Therefore, he was less than prepared for the arctic cold to nip through his thin— _and slightly ripped_ — clothes. It didn’t help that the grass beneath him was bitterly cold to the touch, its blades pricking his skin like tiny knives. Though his body ached for some kind of relief from the stinging pain, Hongjoong didn’t have a shred of motivation to move from his outstretched position on the ground.

He simply stares at the floating sparkles of snowflakes falling gently onto his face, melting at the touch of his heated body. Oblivion beneath his eyelids threatened to envelope him but Hongjoong was doing all he can to keep his eyes open, watching the supposed spectacle he was supposed to wonder in amazement with. 

When they fail to impress him, he starts to count them instead.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

_Four._

Hongjoong has to admit, though, that feeling the soft landing of cotton snowflakes tickling his face has him driving down the urge to stick his tongue out and taste them like they did in the movies.

Word of mouth told him that snow tasted like angels and clouds and pure innocence.

Everything Hongjoong could not, for the life of him, begin to imagine.

But to let the crystal fractals melt into his bloodied mouth right now was going to ruin the taste of snow he’d conjured in his mind. There was no way he was going to allow his image of the taste to be mingled with the metallic tang of his rancid blood. He was going to keep his mouth shut, for the sake of his dream.

He couldn’t let the purity of snow be tainted when he was just so…

…so _dirty._

_Twenty-two._

_Twenty-three._

_Twenty-four._

Thankfully, it was blissfully silent in the empty playground with only the sound of his ragged breathing— _shit, did they break his ribs, too?_ — resounding against his ears with concert hall acoustics.

At least he had some peace and quiet to count the falling snowflakes that seemed to be numbered as much as there were stars in the galaxies— and, somewhere in Hongjoong’s mind, challenge the tally of purpling bruises and open wounds littered in patches across his skin.

So, he stops counting and laughs, taking in every shock of pain that comes with it.

This was his first experience with the novelty, the gentle fall of snow to him was quite… underwhelming.

Underhandedly, they made him feel nothing but emptiness.

It wasn’t anywhere close to the feeling of weighty knuckles pounding against his body, nor the satisfaction of having heavy boots kicking his jaw, breaking skin and bones.

It was nothing like the little highs he chased from meaningless fights.

If he held his breath long enough, he would be able to savour every beating pang against his chest, knowing that this feeling would surely numb itself again soon enough.

Liquid suddenly pools at the base of his throat, making Hongjoong gag with force for some clearance. Rapidly swinging to his side, he violently coughs up the acidic blood from his system, lungs burning from the brutal strain. His blood stains the fresh, glittery sheet of white that had just enveloped the grass next to him with a darkening mix of red and poison.

Breathing heavily now that his lungs were begging for air, Hongjoong watches the putrid colours soak into the pristine white.

_So fucking dirty._

Hongjoong leans back into the grass, his chest heaving for air. His lips twitch with an upturning curl as he shuts his eyes. When the feeling begins to numb, he laughs heartlessly into the void.

* * *

With the blizzard crashing against the cafe windows like they were ready to blow the windows out, Seonghwa double checks the locks on them to make sure they weren’t going to give out and bury him in hills of snow. 

He grumbles, turning up the heater to counter the chill he felt from the lack of clothing layers on his body.

It was just his luck to be rostered for a late-night shift on the night of, not only the unprecedented first fall of winter, but also the unruly _snowstorm_ that came with it. They had only just entered the month of November, way too early for winter to be blanketing their country with her snow, let alone the blizzard that was two notches away from completely submerging the small cafe he was appointed to manage alone.

With a weather like this, his shift was bound to be less than exciting. No customers would have the sanest mind to be out and about with the storm they were having. So, Seonghwa knew he had the unduly duty of financing the accounts and stockpiling their supplies.

He had only been calculating a crazy string of numbers with the ledger books sprawled across the front counter when the bell dings from across the room, jolting him from the tamed silence he was comfortable in.

Seonghwa shoots his gaze towards the door.

_What the hell…_

It was mad— no, _lunacy_ for anyone to be roaming the streets in this kind of weather. There was no chance of anybody stupid enough to brave the engulfing storm outside.

So, why the _hell_ was there a boy at the entrance of the cafe, shivering violently with his clothes soaked to the bone, looking around cooly as if he hadn’t just stepped out of the maddening storm?

But when the boy meets his eyes, padding his feet towards the counter where he was, the unfiltered gasp escapes him when he takes in the boy’s dishevelled look.

No— he was more than dishevelled.

Was that _blood?_

“Hey,” the strange boy greets when he reaches him, a smug smile plastered across his face as he leans into the counter. “You don’t happen to have a first-aid kit and a bathroom around, do you?”

That’s when Seonghwa casted a daring examination of the boy’s face, but even a quick scan was enough to register the mortifying damage to his features.

Streaks of dried stains leaked from a spot that disappeared into his pink hair, lining down the side of his cheek. There was a deep gash across the bridge of his nose that needed attention. But the most demanding was the swell from his busted lips, blood against broken skin just at the edge of them that swelled up to his jaw.

Fuck the first-aid. This boy needed the _hospital._

“Forget the medical kit. How about a trip to the _ER?”_ Seonghwa raked his eyes over the boy’s features once again. With another glance, there was something familiar about the boy beneath the purpling bruises.

The boy scoffs, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms albeit audaciously. “Don’t be such a drama queen. Just give me some alcohol swabs and I’ll live.”

Seonghwa swears he’s heard this snarky tone of voice before. Maybe never ever directed towards him, but he doesn’t miss the sarcastic temper for a bit.

“Hold on.” His eyes lit up in recognition. “You’re Kim Hongjoong, aren’t you? You go to my school.”

Hongjoong stiffens, his eyes hardening like stone when Seonghwa calls him out. Truthfully, he didn’t recognise the boy behind the counter, but then again, when did he ever care to notice the people around him? 

But something about being identified like this… itched. 

Hongjoong sighs indignantly, “just give me the damn medical box and I’ll be on my way.”

Seonghwa turns around, but his narrowed eyes lingered on him for a while. He walks towards a cabinet lined at the far end of the kitchen, rummaging briefly before taking out the kit that was there. He returns to Hongjoong with a fresh curiosity on his face.

“Who the hell made you look like shit?” 

“Why don’t you mind your own fucking business,” Hongjoong snarls with his features twitching into anger, snatching the kit from him before retreating into a far corner of the cafe.

The boy’s crude response shot irritation through his bones, especially after Seonghwa’s display of kindness. But his mother had always taught him to be the bigger person. The one to offer an extending hand of humanity in the face of adversity. So, he swallows his pride and makes a quick trip to the back room before placing himself in front of the boorish boy.

But, just because he was showing a sense of goodwill, doesn’t mean he had to be polite about it.

He drops some clean clothes on the table right in front of Hongjoong, landing them with a loud thud that startles the boy. Hongjoong slightly jumps, eyes widening in shock before a deep scowl and a piercing gaze replaced them.

“The fuck is your problem?”

“The fuck is _yours?”_ Seonghwa swore, matching his anger. “You’re lucky I’m willing to bypass your shit to make sure you don’t bleed out on the floor or freeze to death in those clothes on _my_ watch.”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes. _“My hero,”_ he sardonically responds before returning to the wounds he’d been treating before, leaving Seonghwa to fume on his own.

The taller boy mentally curses him in his head, shooting daggers at him through his eyes with a boiling animosity. But when Hongjoong sharply inhales, wincing, the anger quickly dissipates into concern. He side steps the table that had been obscuring him from the wounds that Hongjoong had been attending to.

That’s when he audibly gasps, eyes balling into moons.

If he thought that the worst damage had been done to Hongjoong’s face, there was more to say about the marks that littered his abdomen. Patches of black and blue coloured every part of his bare skin, barely leaving room for the milky complexion.

“Hongjoong, what the fuck happened?” 

Seonghwa swiftly drops to his knees, pulling Hongjoong’s shirt even higher to fully examine the wounds. 

As if Seonghwa’s fingers were lit matchsticks against his skin, Hongjoong shoots to his feet abruptly, his breathing ragged as he presses into thin air when the chair creaked screechingly against the floor.

“I said it’s not of your goddamn business,” he growls, but quickly hissing when his face stung from the untreated wounds at the sudden fury contorted onto his face. “Why the fuck do you care?”

“Let me treat you properly,” Seonghwa grunts, getting up on his feet. “Your application of the cream is so sloppy, my eyes are physically hurting just from seeing them. Just sit down. I’ll help you.”

Hongjoong seemed unconvinced.

“Or I could call the police and have them cuff you up for suspicious behaviour.”

The threat was rather flimsy, both of them knowing Seonghwa didn’t have the right claim to phone in police, but that got Hongjoong slumping back into the seat, huffing like a child.

For the first time since Hongjoong had theatrically stepped in, Seonghwa could finally breathe relaxation into his bones. He gestured for the boy to remove his drying sweater, which he does so with an exasperated huff and an eye roll, and got to work on the unpleasant minefield on Hongjoong’s body. He bites down the surprise when he saw more cuts and bruises plastered along his chest.

“Seriously, dude, what did you do to rack up so much damage to yourself?” 

Hongjoong grits his teeth. 

_Of course it was something he did. It was always his fault._

“Like I said, stay out of my business,” he grumbles, but the vigour in him dulling as the taller boy rubs soothing cream onto the purple patches. He ignores the eye roll and solely focuses on the latter’s features. 

Frankly, Hongjoong still hadn’t had the slightest idea of who this boy was— and more head-scratchingly, just _why_ exactly was he being so kind to him despite all the insults he’d thrown. He ransacked his brains to match the boy’s face to anyone he’d known in school, but nevertheless, coming up blank.

“Hey, who are you?” 

Seonghwa pauses, briefly looking up. “What do you mean?”

“You said we go to school together. I don’t recognise you at all, so either we’ve never met or you’re a stalkerish creep.”

Gaping his mouth, Seonghwa straightens himself on his knee. “You’ve gotta kidding me. We’re in the same class, asshole. I _literally_ sit right in front of you.”

A swift flash of curly black hair enters his mind. Hongjoong _does_ remember a boy who raises his hands too frequently to ask or answer some dumb questions whenever he tries to catch some sleep in class. 

He scrunches his face in disgust. “You’re the nerd.”

“It’s _Seonghwa_. Park Seonghwa, you jerk.” Seonghwa presses a cotton wool to his bruise with a slight pressure, making the boy wince a little. 

“Whatever.”

If it weren’t for the goodwill he inherited from his mother that was stopping him from responding to his own temper, Seonghwa would’ve long tossed the crude boy by his ass out into the deathly blizzard to fend for himself.

Silence settled between the two while Seonghwa continued to work on treating the wounds with Hongjoong staring tamely out the window. The tinier boy had been so quiet for some time that Seonghwa was beginning to think there was some damage to his vocal chords as well that was stopping him from speaking. But a few more minutes passes before Hongjoong pipes against the silence again.

“Hey, Hwa, why do you think it snows?”

The question catches him off guard just as much as the nickname does, Seonghwa pausing at the abrupt enquiry. He thought about it briefly before shifting towards the table for some medicine for the gashes on the Hongjoong’s face.

“What kind of question is that? Maybe ‘cause God wants it to snow? Maybe the earth just needs to chill out for an entire season?” Seonghwa pulls the black sweater he had come to work in over Hongjoong’s head, who doesn’t protest against it. 

If the boy had a problem with wearing his clothing, he wasn’t showing it. Maybe the sudden acquiescence had something to do with the distant look in his eyes.

“Does the snow make you happy?” Hongjoong throws him another offhanded question.

This time, Seonghwa scans over the dull expression on the boy’s face with knitted brows as he reaches for the alcohol swipes to clean up the dried blood. “Um, not when they pile up the driveway and my mother gets me to do the shovelling, but yeah. I guess it does. Why? What does the snow make _you_ feel?”

Hongjoong flashes him a hollow smile with dull eyes to match.

“It makes me want to kill myself.”

Seonghwa freezes, an icy sensation colder than the blizzard outside shoots through him. He pales with bulging eyes as stares into Hongjoong’s sodden ones. 

It wasn’t a response he was expecting. Not in the _least_.

Even that… harrowing _smile_ was still burning through his conscience. Matched with the morbidity of his words, Hongjoong’s sullenness was beginning to send waves of alert through his mind. 

Then, just as abruptly as it came, the smile drops from Hongjoong’s lips, a deepening frown replacing them. 

Then, Hongjoong does the most horrid thing.

He _laughs_ _without a shred of soul_ in his tone.

“Oi, don’t look so worried like that. You look stupid,” he joked tastelessly, awkwardly clambering his fists together, avoiding the blinking eyes and puckering forehead staring directly towards him.

But Seonghwa wasn’t faltering. 

The cynical, shit-for-nothing attitude Hongjoong carried himself with was hiding something… something _dark_ in him that he felt like he needed to put up an misanthropic front to shield himself with. 

“Hey, Seonghwa. Seriously, just— forget about what I said. It was just a joke,” he stutters almost mutedly, pulling himself away.

Something about Hongjoong didn’t sit right with Seonghwa.

But Seonghwa knew better than to push him further than he was willing to go. Getting a grip over himself, Seonghwa clears the antipathy from his throat. 

Instead, he continues to work through the medicine onto the boy’s face. Not once does Hongjoong meet his eyes.

When he was done, he lets the small boy change into his fresh, clean pants as well while he went to brew some hot tea. Despite the warmth of the heated cafe relieving Hongjoong of the violent shivers from the unbelievable frost, he was still visibly trembling from god knows how long he’d spent outside in the cold. 

When Seonghwa returned with freshly brewed tea and a sheet of table cloth in hand, he couldn’t stop the flush of his cheeks seeing the smaller boy sink into his clothes, the black, fluffy sweater just barely hanging off his shoulders, giving him sweater paws. He almost had to slap himself out of the stupor Hongjoong had casted him in when the latter turned straightened back up after adjusting the ankle cuffs of Seonghwa’s pants on him.

“Hwachae, these clothes are a little too big for me,” Hongjoong discloses, folding in the top part of his pants. “Isn’t there something in my size? Like, say, my _own_ clothes?”

Seonghwa prays the taunting boy doesn’t see his apple bobbing nervously when he turns away. “Well, you’re just going to have to deal with it. You’re clothes are still soaked and might I add, covered in _blood_. I can bag it for you to take home, but you’re not changing into them unless hypothermia is on your bucket list.”

“If you wanted to see me in your clothes, you didn’t have to hide it,” Hongjoong snorts, arms folding and slightly amused at the way the other boy turns beet red at his words. 

The thought of tossing Hongjoong by the goddamn _ass_ and out into the blizzard dashes through his mind again.

But instead, he’ll have to satiate himself with smacking the tablecloth to the infuriating boy’s face. “Go get some rest, smartass. The blizzard doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon so might as well sleep while you still can. Take the couch by the heater. It’ll warm you up.”

Without a second to waste, Seonghwa pivots himself towards the front counter where he’d left the accounts widely exposed. With every passing second he was with Hongjoong, he was balancing on a tightrope between slapping the hell out of his face and wanting to comfort the broken boy that hide beneath those hardened walls.

“—Wait, Hwachae—“ Seonghwa pauses, glancing at Hongjoong who was chewing on his bottom lip, avoiding his gaze. “I— umm— is there—“ the smaller boy swallows deeply ‘—is there any way I can thank you?” 

“Sure.” Seonghwa turns to him, hands in his pocket. “Answer me truthfully. Just this once.”

Hongjoong cocks his head, squinting in confusion. 

“Why do you hate snow?”

Almost instantly, Hongjoong’s expression flickers into something darker, his eyes distant where they focused on the floor, scowling deeply. But his features weren’t contorted into something sinister. No… it was something more of… _fear_.

“Careful what you ask for, Hwa,” Hongjoong warns, shifting his body away so that Seonghwa could only see the frame of his frail back. “There’s a reason why people don’t like me.”

“And why is that?”

This time, after a long pause, Hongjoong’s shoulders slump forward, turning around to face him once again. For the second time since he’d stepped in, Seonghwa could feel his heart shrivelling, sinking deep into his chest.

It was that stupid smile again.

It was the kind of smile that saw too many heartbreaks.

The kind of smile Hongjoong was giving him now.

“Because, everyone likes the mystery, Hwa, but no one’s prepared for the mess underneath.”

_What the fuck does that—_

“Im tired. Leave me the fuck alone now, would ya?” Hongjoong doesn’t even wait for an answer before shuffling himself towards the couch, laying with his back towards Seonghwa.

It was the silence and the sound of crashing blizzard against the windows that nestled between them once again as Seonghwa stands stiffly, staring at the back of the boy with too many broken words.

After a while, he sighs, resenting to the fact that this was as far as he was going to get with Hongjoong. For now, at least. 

With hours left to his shift and his patient knocked out against the couch, Seonghwa resorts to stockpiling the back room like he intended to do before the whole fiasco. 

Though, even as he kept himself busy with sorting and rearrangement of boxes, his mind swam with the words Hongjoong injected him with. 

Maybe, from an angle where his mental health was involved, maybe Seonghwa was starting to see cracks in Hongjoong’s disruptive behaviour in class. Maybe if he’d just looked closer, maybe if he paid more attention, he would’ve noticed the way Hongjoong would socially withdraw himself from others in during class tutorials, his extreme mood swings, his reckless behaviour. 

With the words Hongjoong was feeding Seonghwa tonight, they weren’t to be brushed off and look over so easily. 

_“Seonghwa, mind your own business. There’s nothing you can do anyways.”_

_“Everybody likes the mystery, Hwa, no one cares for the mess underneath."_

A long time ago, Seonghwa was an idiot for not reading into those words sooner. But right now, he knew what those words meant.

It was a silent cry for help.

And Seonghwa would be a damn _fool_ if he was going to make the same mistake again.

His phone buzzes, the vibration in his pocket snatching him back to reality, the alert signalling the end of his shift. He gets up from the floor where he worked, stretching the rigidity from his bones. Fisting the strain on his spine, Seonghwa pads out of the back room, ghastly aware of the hours that fleeted rapidly while he spent them alone in storage. 

When he returns to the dining area of the cafe, his eyes immediately darting towards a specific couch, but his heart sinks at the empty sheets caught sliding off the couch. Panic begins to seep through tantalisingly. 

Hongjoong was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you liked the first chapter! i wasn't actually going to post this story because i thought it was going to be too dark but i think that recovery fics are needed for everyone who's going through a rough time so i decided to do it. (or maybe tis just be me self-projecting onto my characters who knows hoho)
> 
> before you go, please leave kudos and comments and let me know what you think!!
> 
> ps. update schedule is currently non-existent because im busier now :// otherwise, please subscribe so you'll know when i update!!
> 
> pps. i didnt proof read. its 2am. my brain is jelly.
> 
> anyways, hope to see you in the next chapter~


	2. broken in half, but don't put me back together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, this is embarrassingly late. 
> 
> MANY APOLOGIES. I was away longer than I expected and didn't have time to write until now. Hopefully, updates will come much faster now. Hopefully- if things didn't keep popping up my schedule hurhur...
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoy the chapter!! I'm still getting back into gear of writing so apologies if the chapter isn't written as well as expected 😣😣 Please leave kudos and comments!! They're really helpful!!
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy ~
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS // VIOLENCE / SUICIDAL THOUGHTS

_Someone…_

Another hard-hitting fist pounds against his cheek, the contact sending ripples of pain through his skin, ringing like a vibrato in a concert hall. Then again, he doesn’t even have the time to register the pain when another punch lands in the same spot, barrelling in attacks and Hongjoong can do nothing but take them obediently.

Not like he had any means to move. His legs were pinned to the ground by the burly man on top of him, striking him with force that the sound of his fist against Hongjoong’s cheeks reverberated in rhythm off the alley walls. 

All he can see is red. 

The red of his blood splattering on clothes. The red of the man’s face attacking him. 

_Someone… please…_

Hongjoong doesn’t even know what he’s pleading for. For the attack to stop? No. He asked for this. He was the one who picked a fight with an agitated thug on his way home. Every stinging throb that bounced off his cheeks is a testament to what he came here for.

To feel.

But the pain was starting to feel less of a victory and more of… _torture._

_Someone please…_

His head was starting to lull, the vibrations against his skull threatening the oblivion that appeared more tempting with every blow to his head. His eyes flittered heavily.

_It hurts…_

The ringing in his ears was becoming louder by the second. Hongjoong snakes his trembling hands to them. The ringing was drowning everything else out.

All the pain.

All the awareness that he was indeed alone.

The ringing was welcoming something _else_ that was far more bearable.

There was a welcoming _silence_ awaiting Hongjoong.

Suddenly, the heavy weight on his knees was forced off at the sound of a battle cry, the numbness in his legs disappearing into pins and needles from having been suppressed for so long. In the gaps of his eyelids, Hongjoong picks up the outline of a bleary figure, who had slammed himself against the attacking man, but his vision was suffering with blurriness from taking all the attacks to his head.

In a split second of a glance, Seonghwa knew that Hongjoong did _not_ look good.

He wasn’t responding to what he was saying. The boy's eyes were half-lidded and unfocused, his head rolling against the dirty snow as his pupils searched around. Seonghwa noticed that his lips were parted with low puffs of breaths escaping from them, a patch of purpling bruise was beginning to form. Hongjoong desperately needed medical attention _now_.

But that would have to wait.

Seonghwa has to turn his attention back to the man glaring at him. He hasn't had the slightest idea who this middle-aged man was or _why_ he was attacking a kid just fresh into his twenties. The man props himself up by his arms, panting to regain the energy he’d lost from Seonghwa's sudden assault. By no means did Seonghwa have the skills to defend himself against the man who looked nearly twice his size, however, he knew he had to shove away the innate fear to protect Hongjoong and himself. 

If there’s one thing that he knew, he was getting Hongjoong out of there _alive_.

 _“Dont touch him,”_ Seonghwa grits. 

Without sparing the man another moment to breathe, Seonghwa charges towards him, hardening his body stiff like a battering ram and slams the man squarely into the wall. If the sharp gasp that escaped the man’s mouth was any indication of his victory, Seonghwa pulled himself away, his lungs burning for oxygen as he watches the man slide limply against the wall.

It was a relief with barely any celebration before Seonghwa spun around, dropping to his feet when he heard violent coughs rippling from the crippled body laying on the ground.

“Hongjoong!” Seonghwa rakes his eyes over the boy, desperately looking over each injury. At least at the injuries that he _could_ see. “Hongjoong, you’re good. Stay with me, alright?” 

Seonghwa snakes his arm underneath Hongjoong’s head with hurried gentleness, propping the boy up to his waist. But Hongjoong pulls away, enough for the latter to bite a choke at the sight of the bruising state of his face.

Through his blood-stained teeth, Hongjoong tugs his lips into a painful smile again. One Seonghwa hadn't imagined on seeing so soon.

“Hw- Hwach- chae-“ between his panted breaths, Hongjoong whispers, leaning close enough to brush his lips against Seonghwa’s ears that the latter could _feel_ the ghastly smile. 

“I deserved this.”

Seonghwa swears he could feel his heart free falling to the pit of his stomach, the blood beneath his skin darkening at Hongjoong’s words. 

_So, he’s still suffering._

When Hongjoong disappeared from the cafe on the night of the blizzard, Seonghwa could only pray to _god_ that he was alright. They weren’t acquaintances— hell, Hongjoong hadn’t even known who he was despite being seated right behind him for an entire semester, so Seonghwa had no way of contacting him to ask him where he was, if he was alright and, god forbid, why did he have to make Seonghwa worry so goddamn much about him.

He releases a weighted breath he'd been holding when Hongjoong’s wavering body ends up leaning against his completely. He shifts Hongjoong to his back, hitching him up before staggering to his own feet.

“The only thing you deserve right now—” Seonghwa huffs, breaking his heel against the icy ground towards the one place he knows to go “— is a lawsuit for putting me through this.”

* * *

The first thing that Hongjoong registers when the fleets of consciousness streamed back into his system was that he was warm— which is a stark contrast from the numbing ice that he remembered being hammered into when he blacked out.

There was soft cotton beneath his fingertips and a fuzzy, smooth duvet draping over him, doing its duly duty to keep him warm and snug. Hongjoong momentarily wonders if he’s allowed such a comfort like this. How the _hell_ did he even get here in the first place?

“Hyung, _now_ you wanna explain to me how and why exactly you hauled a bloody Kim Hongjoong to the clinic?”

The distant murmurs pricks his ears. Reflexively, Hongjoong attempts to prop himself up when a sharp, pounding ache bangs against his head, the pain immediately stopping him from anymore movement. He shuts his eyes together, willing the pain to subside.

“Because, you’re my best friend who seems to be born from a family of doctors—“ that voice, it sounded a lot like— “Interestingly enough, you’re the only friend that comes from a family of doctors, Woo.”

_“Seonghwa hyunggg.“_

That’s right. Seonghwa had been the one to shove the bastard when he was certain he almost tasted death. He must’ve been the one to have dragged him here as well.

Okay _,_ but _why the fuck._

“Hyung, as much as I’d agree that flattery would get you anywhere, I’ll need an explanation to give my parents for the missing bandages and supplies. We may be rich, hyung, but money don’t grow on trees.”

Hongjoong cracks an eye open. He could see the outline of Seonghwa’s face through the slit opening of the curtains, chewing on his bottom lip as he contemplated on an answer. There was another man obscuring his frame, heads shorter than him, leaning on his hip with his arms crossed.

Seonghwa sighs. “Look, I told you. I was looking for Hongjoong and one of his friends told me he liked to loiter around that shady backstreet behind our school. So I went there.”

Hongjoong scoffs, rolling his eyes. Lee Minho didn't qualify as a friend more than a nosy asshole who liked to get up all in his business only for a hot piece of fresh gossip about the campus’ maniac. 

“When I got there, there was this massive thug punching the shit out of him, Woo.”

Instinctively, fingers shoot up to his cheeks, tenderly caressing them. They were raw and ginger to the touch, almost sending electrifying burns through his nerves, but there was a layer of cream that stuck to his fingertips.

They patched him up.

“Hyung, that could’ve been dangerous for _you_. Could you please stop to think about yourself for once? You’re always pulling this kind of shit for other people.” The man— Woo— shakes his head, pulling his hands up to cover his face. “God, do you have _any_ idea how much we worry about you? And now you’re pulling this shit with _the_ Kim Hongjoong?”

Hongjoong snapped his head at the mention of his name.

“What’s wrong with Hongjoong?” Seonghwa had looked geniunely curious, his brows knitted and eyes narrowed. Like as if he _cared_.

“You know… Hyung, you can’t _honestly_ tell me you don’t know about his reputation?” 

Hongjoong pulled his knees closer. He wasn’t stupid nor was he oblivious to the kind of _'_ _reputation'_ he had. People had always whispered behind his back, words about him flying from one mouth to another without ever sparing him the chance to clear his name. At some point, Hongjoong had stopped chasing for that chance anyway.

“You know Changbin, right? Well, he told me that trying to include him into his circle of friends was the worst mistake they’d ever make. He was exhausting, rude and can’t go two seconds without putting one of them down. He broke them to tears and bones, hyung.”

Every word sent a shockwave of hurt impaling his heart. Each one slashing a new wound worse than the ones he had littered all over his body.

He doesn’t mean to. He really doesn’t want to hurt others. But it was in his nature. He can’t help the person he’s become.

“He’s a maniac, hyung. He _destroys_ people.”

Hongjoong has heard enough. Physical pain was always worth better than emotional ones. He could deal with the assault on his skin and bones, but not on his heart. He just doesn't know how to survive from those, yet.

He slides carefully to his side, burying himself under the suffocating sheet as he shuts his eyes tight, and for once, he willed for the numbness to take over him quickly. The single, hot tear that escapes his eyes was the only reprieve they’d be able to get from him. He wasn’t going to let them take anymore.

“Wooyoung! You can’t talk about people like that!” Seonghwa snaps, fire breathing down his throat. 

Regardless of the reputation that Hongjoong apparently had or the allegations made against him, there was simply no right for _anyone_ to be talking about another person like that. He always thought that, if they weren't perfect human beings themselves, what right did they have to judge others?

However, realising that his sudden outburst had startled the younger, Seonghwa beats his heart to calm down. 

“Hyung… I— I’m sorry. It’s just— We don’t want you to get hurt…” Wooyoung trails, his eyes drooping to the floor beneath them.

Seonghwa relieves a sigh. “No— I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. Especially after everything you’ve done to help him treat his wounds. You’re a great friend, Wooyoung, and I really appreciate you guys looking out for me... but—“

His eyes divert themselves to the dark, sleeping figure through the translucency of the curtains.

 _But you weren’t there the night he came in, broken in places you wouldn’t be able to get to._ _You weren’t there to see that ghostly smile, hear those haunting words._

_You would’ve known that it’s him who needs saving._

“— but Hongjoong isn’t dangerous. The man’s only weapon are his words. Trust me, he’d be more likely to kill your eardrums with his foul mouth than even attempt to break your heart.” 

Wooyoung seems unconvinced, but Seonghwa was always a carbon copy of his mother— always willing to believe in the good nature of a person. It was how they came to be as friends anyways, with Seonghwa willing to accept him with all his ‘rebelling-against-his-parents’ vices. He shakes his head, leaving the Kim Hongjoong issue where it was and excused himself to replenish the supplies they’d used while coming up with a good enough lie for why they were missing in the first place.

Seonghwa slides himself past the curtains, shuffling himself close enough to witness the Hongjoong’s adorning features. He could almost trace the circles of purpling bruises, not knowing where one stopped and another began. The swelling had gone down significantly, but it couldn’t mask the wounds— _old and new, may he add_ — beneath.

_“Seonghwa, mind your own business. There’s nothing you can do anyways.”_

There was a different Hongjoong. One he’d met years ago when the boy had first moved into their dead end town. He’d noticed the vacant house on his morning jog had been spilling boxes through the door, the picket sign on the lawn splattered with a red “SOLD” on it.

He remembered the boy, sitting on the steps of the door, earphones plugged in as he scribbled endlessly on scraps of papers bundled together. As he jogged past, he slowed for an unnecessary peek when the boy snapped his head up, shooting him an intimidating look.

_“What?”_

_“You— Drawing— Good—” Seonghwa sputtered the words out with two thumbs up like an idiot after being caught by surprise. Topped off with his reddened face, Hongjoong had snorted unbelievably at him._

_They exchanged names and talked for a while, Seonghwa welcoming him into the neighbourhood— "might wanna take a detour if you’re ever planning to visit the diner down the road. They serve rats more than they do customers"— and Hongjoong smiled, laughing with an artless glint in his eyes. But their reverie was cut short by the sudden sounds of careless banging and shouts from beyond the front door._

_Seonghwa squirmed uncomfortably, the situation spelling what could be a broken household waiting for Hongjoong when he went back. But the latter had only blinked distantly at the door, sighing heavily with a shrug of his shoulders._

_“H-Hey… Do you—“_

_“Leave it, Seonghwa.” Hongjoong turned to him, the corner of his lips twitching to a smile that didn’t match his eyes and suddenly, Seonghwa was missing the smile that he’d flashed him earlier. “No offence but mind your own business. There’s nothing you can do anyways.”_

And Seonghwa had listened then. He didn’t push any further, but when they’d parted ways that day, it would’ve been the last time he’d remembered of a Hongjoong that smiled sweetly, no pretence guarding his expressions, laughter bubbling off him like they were meant to. He decided that Hongjoong looked better with that smile.

But when he stares presently at the Hongjoong, the boy before him was miles- _galaxies_ _away_ from the boy he'd met.

This Hongjoong had hardened himself like a stone, though he knew of the hollowness that was holed within him.

Something had gone wrong in the span of few years that they were lost from each other. 

Or maybe… there was always something wrong and no one, Seonghwa included, had cared to ask.

“Stare any longer and I might have to charge you for feasting on my beauty.”

Seonghwa snaps himself back from his thoughts, verily aware of the pair of discerning eyes watching him. He bites back the scoff from falling his lips, pulling a chair closer for himself.

“Glad to know the narcissism didn’t get beaten out of you,” Seonghwa counters, earning an attractive snort from the other. “Though, I might just have to if you don’t start explaining to me the reason _why_ I had to find you getting beaten to shit in that alley.”

This time, Hongjoong actually scoffs, rolling his eyes as he turns his back onto Seonghwa, wincing at the echoes of pain across his body. He had no obligation to explain himself to him. It was _his_ business if he wanted to get beaten up. Seonghwa had no—

Suddenly, a lightning bolt sensation nips from his butt cheek, forcing him to turn back with his eyes blown wide, wound pains forgotten.

“What— Did you seriously just pinch my butt?” Hongjoong yelps in disbelief, but Seonghwa wasn’t wavering from where he sat, arms crossed with a quirk of his eyebrow. He rubs the soreness of his bum, grumbling. “Seriously, Hwachae, I thought you were a man of class.”

“Like you thought I was gonna let you go for disappearing on me that night?” Seonghwa probes just as Hongjoong settles his back against the headboard of the bed. He leaned in, readjusting the pillows on his back. “You owe me a sweater, some sleep and an explanation, Hongjoong. But I’m willing to settle for just an explanation.”

“Aren’t you merciful.”

“One of my charms. Now, explain.”

Hongjoong tugs on a lip, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans where they were hidden beneath the blanket. He turns away, unwilling to see the sincere concern on Seonghwa’s face. “Could _you?_ Would you ‘ave been able to face the person you’d just admitted your suicidal thoughts to?”

Right then, Seonghwa’s expression cracks.

That night, Hongjoong had laid bare his vulnerability, tearing himself down to his innermost privacy to someone no more than a stranger. It probably had taken him an immense courage to admit. Courage that could not extend with his stay.

“No,” Seonghwa relaxes from his rigid posture as Hongjoong slowly turned back at him, though their eyes never met. “You’re right. It must’ve been really tough for you. But thank you. For being honest with me then and for being honest with me now.”

“Whatever,” the boy mutters, anchoring his gaze on one hand while the other scratched through the grease in his hair. 

That’s when Seonghwa had noticed the dried blood stuck within strands of Hongjoong’s cotton candy hair. He stretched himself to the drawer behind him, pulling out wet tissues before creaking the chair closer to wipe them. Hongjoong stiffens at the touch, remaining that way as he swipes the cooling tissue through his hair. Even to Seonghwa's surprise, Hongjoong had remained tamely quiet, just like he did when Seonghwa had pulled his sweater over him the other night.

“You know…” Hongjoong segues into conversation. “Most of the time, whenever I go to people for their first aid supplies, they usually can’t wait till they’re rid of me. Why the hell are you still here?”

“Wait— Most of the time?” Seonghwa pauses, pulling away to look him in the eye. “Hongjoong, how often do you get hurt?”

“Invalid. You can’t answer a question with a question.”

Seonghwa’s eye twitches. “Valid if you’ve just save the other person’s ass.”

 _“Hwachae,”_ Hongjoong warns, his tone dangerously low. But Seonghwa was always one for the dangerous tides.

“No. Seriously. Why are you getting into fights all the time? You’re _barely_ recovering from the other night. Fuck, Hongjoong, I can _still_ see those old bruises as clear as day. Why do you have to—“

Out of the blue, Hongjoong snatches his hand, trapping him in an intense glare as he places their hands on his chest. Beneath the warmth of his hand, Seonghwa felt the loud thumping of Hongjoong’s heart against his chest, tremors travelling right to his fingertips. He flickers his eyes, blinking rapidly at the sudden action.

“Do you feel that?” Hongjoong sneers at him, gritting his teeth. “Do you feel my heart pumping? Because I can’t.“

“Hongjoong, what—“

“Fucking hell. Call me a fucking sadist, I don’t care, but those fights are _all_ I have to remind me that I’m still alive, asshole.” Hongjoong was trembling, Seonghwa could feel it from the hand gripping him. “Feeling pain is better than feeling nothing at all.”

Hongjoong releases his hand as he clenches his eyes shut, steadying his ragged breathing. Seonghwa, on the other hand, cowered back into himself, internalising this new piece of information. This fresh layer of anguish he'd dug up.

He hadn’t known. 

How badly could someone be suffering if their only solace was through pain?

Flickering his eyes, Seonghwa bathed in Hongjoong’s features.

The scars on his face, the bruises across his skin.

They meant something to him. Like it was the only hope he had that he could cling on to. The little life he had to live on.

The more Seonghwa learned about him, the more cracks began to break his heart. No one should be suffering as much as Hongjoong was. Something had broken Hongjoong and left him battling for more than a life. Hongjoong was battling for a _purpose_ to live.

“Not many people come into my life bleeding like you did, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa eases, earning the attention of the other now that they both had calmed down, though the glower in Hongjoong's eyes remained just as the scowl on his lips did. “But I’m not ignorant enough to let you leave with your heart still bleeding.”

Hongjoong eyes him suspiciously. “Okay, Shakespeare?”

Seonghwa shoots himself to his feet, softening his harsh features into one full of ambition. “What’s your favourite number?”

“What the fuck for?”

“Just answer me.”

“If it gets you to shut up…” Hongjoong berates to himself. “Eighty one.”

“Okay, then.” Seonghwa pauses with a glimmer of a smile on his face. “Give me eighty one days, Hongjoong, and I’ll make you feel something else other than pain.”

Hongjoong squints his eyes at Seonghwa, not sure how exactly he’d managed to find himself treading into such dangerous waters. But the boy was giving him a look soaked with so much hope and brightness, it pegs him to listen on. Okay, he would tread slowly.

Seonghwa looks at him in the eye.

“I will make you feel love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a confession to make. I am: making this story up as I go~
> 
> Well, what I mean is that I don't have a set storyline in place, just ideas throwing at different parts of my brain. But I do have a direction I'm going for and I guess in the end, we're getting a mix of fluff and dark after all...
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoyed the chapter!! Please leave kudos and comments if you can!! They make my day :)))
> 
> Also p.s. I'm finally back on twitter. @joongtopia_ if you wanna talk! I scream about ateez there
> 
> Ok enough rambling. 
> 
> See you in the next chapter~


	3. hurt is all i know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today, i bring you: seongjoong fluff

Whenever Hongjoong would close his eyes, his mind continues to illuminate the darkness behind them with the same bright eyes like as if they were a broken record to his memory. As hauntingly beautiful as they were, it was only just that to Hongjoong.

Haunting.

Why _were_ they plastered to his memory when it'd only shake him to the bones remembering them?

Hongjoong steadies a wavering breath, watching a puff of mist leave his cold lips. His fingers itched to wrap around some good roll of nicotine, place the warmth against his lips.

Movies made them look tasty, like the forbidden fruit that promised a feeling of floating among clouds at the taste. He thinks he needs it now, the desire for a taste ran strikingly through him as he shuts his eyes again, meeting those eyes.

They were rounded, light reflecting against the corneas making them look like a litter of stars in a dark galaxy.

Seonghwa’s eyes were always so full of hope— a meaningless daydream with no place in his mind.

_“I will make you feel love.”_

It must be a lie. 

It _should_ be a lie.

Hongjoong didn’t need love. He only needs this blackhole in his chest to swallow him whole, suffocate him until he feels the need to breathe- to remember that he was alive, then let the whole process consume him again. He could walk circles in this routine, let it kill the life inside him again and again because that’s what he’s learnt to do.

But Seonghwa was making it _so damn hard_ to keep walking in the same circles.

It had only been two weeks since this stranger-supposed-classmate stuck to him like a thorn to his side. Seonghwa, being the stubborn little shit that he is, liked to make sure that he was the first person Hongjoong meets in the morning and the last person he talks to before bed. 

Seonghwa would walk him to classes, chat amicably with him between breaks, insisted on sticking next to him during group discussion and— _Hongjoong would like swallow the acid burn in throat_ — ran a daily check on his patchwork blanket of bruises. Like a scrutiny of sergeant, he'd made sure no more wounds showed up while the current ones heal. 

_“But for this to work, promise me you won’t involve yourself in any more fights. If I see one more damn bruise on you, I’m bubble wrapping you up myself—“_

Seonghwa acts as if they were _friends_.

Hongjoong hasn't had friends in a while. He's not sure he really wants to.

Cold metal digs into his back as he leans on the bar of the bus stop, the freezing burn taking the heat away from his thoughts. He wills for the bright picture of Seonghwa’s eyes and the soft smile that he'd always cemented on his face free itself from the darkness behind his eyelids. Hongjoong shakes the heavy breath from his system.

It _burns_ him.

_Why did Seonghwa have to look at him like that?_

_Why didn’t he walk away from him like the rest of them did?_

_Why did that fact make him feel good?_

His hands travel to mask his burning face. The cold, winter air grazed crisply against his skin, but heat warms his body thinking about it. For a moment, he breathes heavily, squeezing the skin of his features with his fingers pressed against his hot eyelids. 

The more time he was spending with Seonghwa, the easier it was to fall into this illusion of companionship, gambled on a thin line of bargained time and conditions Hongjoong had promised to adhere to. 

All for those stupid eyes and warm smile.

All for that tingle of life that Seonghwa would spark in his chest. 

_Life._ It's what Seonghwa provided. What he's had a taste of it in these past few weeks because Seonghwa was giving it away to him so freely. The taste so addictive, it triumphed over nicotine or any other drug could ever offer him.

That fact alone had scared him to _death_.

_Don’t get used to it._

_He’ll ruin you._

His phone buzzes in his pocket and Hongjoong removes the burning hands from his face. White snow piles his vision and he takes a moment to stare, letting the glistening white to blur his thoughts into the back of his memory. His fingers feel for the rectangular piece of metal in his pocket before bringing it up to his face.

 **hwachae:** yo I'm coming up to you now

Hongjoong trails his eyes past the frame of his phone, past the white snow and up towards the familiar face across the street, grinning to the ear as he waved. Seonghwa cladded himself in layers of thick coat and scarves, but even then, his movements weren’t the least restricted as he dashes across the road.

He knows he shouldn’t be here. The more time he spends with Seonghwa, the deeper the grave he digs for himself.

He's riding on dangerous tides.

But Seonghwa had been whining about spending time on the weekends outside of school. He said that he'd been planning to _"show"_ what _"love"_ could be if Hongjoong would give him the chance to take precious time out of his day to spend it with him. Hongjoong wasn't one for spending time outside when he didn't feel the need to- _especially in this shitty cold-_ when moping on his bed with his eyes glued to the ceiling all day just seemed less of an effort.

Which was why alarms blare through his mind when Hongjoong felt the strangest urge to accept the invitation. That the thought of spending time with Seonghwa wasn't as bad as the evil voice in his head kept telling him it was. 

If it meant that he was allowed to feel the growing sparkle of life that Seonghwa feeds him so freely, then Hongjoong was going to shove the devil in his mind the furthest away from his thoughts. No matter how loud it would scream at him, Hongjoong was going to let himself endeavour in this little piece of fresh solace while it's been given to him free of charge.

_Get rid of him._

_You'll destroy him and you both._

Seonghwa skips by passing cars with caution while Hongjoong watches him from afar. The taller boy had his lips pursed in concentration, eyes zeroing on the traffic as he crossed. Ice glazed the roads and traffic had been halfway towards busy at this time in the evening, yet the boy bravely filters through the traffic. Somehow, watching him had Hongjoong feeling somewhat akin towards himself. 

Seonghwa was making the brave effort to filter through the dark carcasses of his mind just to reach to him. 

Hongjoong shoves the murky dread away. The adversity that homed beneath his skin, fuelling the cynical thoughts in his brain could frankly go to hell. He was going to let himself have this. He was going to try for himself, because Seonghwa was trying _hard_ for him. Even if it was meagre, just as minuscule as a fragment of a DNA, Hongjoong had never placed this much belief in himself to succeed.

Because this time, someone was paying attention.

This time, someone was willing to stay.

“Hey,” Seonghwa skids against the snow to a stop in front of him, panting as he regained his breath. Nevertheless, the smile doesn’t waver from his face. “Ready?”

Hongjoong searches through the abyss of Seonghwa’s eyes, unnecessarily plaguing his mind.

Was he ready to fight for himself?

Was he prepared for the battle against the poison that lives in his body?

“Yes.”

_Because this would be the last time he tries._

_Because if he were to fall again, he's convinced he won't be able to get back up._

* * *

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Hongjoong monotones, staring at Seonghwa dead in the eye as he flickers back and forth from the red tub between them. “You dragged my freezing ass all the way out here just so you could go _sledding?”_

Seonghwa shakes his head. “Nope. _We—"_ gesturing a thumb between the two of them "—are going sledding.” 

He digs the tub deeper into the snow, edging it just off the side of the hill they were on. Snow had been piling up the hills, making them look like cotton from a distance and signalling to Seonghwa that it had been time for the one thing he looks forward to every winter.

Excitement buzzed beneath Seonghwa’s skin, dusting the snow off the board with a low hum. His mother was certainly surprised when she found him yesterday, digging through their shed to pull out this old piece of plastic he owned since he was ten. Scuff marks and faded cartoonish drawings reveal themselves from beneath, each with a history of its own in his time growing up. Many good memories were etched in every crease and dent of the tub. They painted winter in his favourite colours, breathing life into a white earth.

Bringing Hongjoong here, Seonghwa was hoping he could do the same for him. To paint whatever hatred he had for the snow with the soft colours of the memories they were going to make today.

“Hwachae, I’m not a fool. I know a death trap when I see one.” Hongjoong fold his arms, appearing as if he could explode the red tub with his own hardened stare. “I’m not a brave soldier either. So, you can have fun evading death on your own.”

“I can’t believe the boy who doesn’t mind getting into fights with thugs is afraid of sliding down a hill,” Seonghwa snickers, pulling himself to his feet. “It’s not going to kill you if you get on it, Joong.”

“The seat is literally mocking me.”

“That’s a tiny monster I drew when I was twelve, Hongjoong.”

“I’m leaving.”

Hongjoong pivots around, but before he could take a step away, Seonghwa wraps his gloved fingers around his wrist. The boy stiffens, slowly turning towards Seonghwa with a scowl on his face, though the taller boy’s pleading eyes softens his expression if not only by a little. 

“Look, I wouldn’t have brought you out here if it wasn’t safe. I just thought it’d be fun if to try this out. My mom used to bring me sledding all the time and it’s my favourite thing to do in winter so I thought, ' _maybe you’d like it too'_ and—” Seonghwa caught himself rambling, biting his tongue before he said anything out of line in his panic. He’s cautious, not wanting to slip any words that may be triggering for the boy. “I… I don’t know… why snow makes you…”

_“It makes me want to kill myself.”_

Seonghwa bites down on a lip, not knowing how to decipher the blank stare Hongjoong was giving him. The ungiving emotions blanketing the latter’s face was doing little to calm the nerves that were shooting down his spine. 

Was this a bad idea? Was he being too insensitive? Hongjoong hadn’t told him what it was about snow that made him feel undeserving of being alive and Seonghwa didn’t want to overstep his boundaries in asking. He was going to let him bring it up on his own, naturally and only if he wanted to. 

But he thought that if he could create meaningful memories in the snow for Hongjoong, then maybe these memories could replace whatever bad ones he had. Then, he wouldn’t have to feel so threatened by this beautiful blanket of snow that graced their neighbourhood yearly. 

Though, it hadn’t occurred to Seonghwa that being out here in the snow could do just the opposite— that it would resurface bad memories that would hurt Hongjoong.

The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt Hongjoong.

“Nevermind. Maybe this was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have—“

“Fine.”

Seonghwa pauses, hovering on his knees when he bent down to pick up the tub. “Come again?”

“One ride,” Hongjoong grunts, popping his feet into the hard plastic as Seonghwa watches him incredulously. “If I crash, you’re paying for my funeral.”

“Wait, what—” Static blanks his mind as Hongjoong positions himself in the tub, gripping the sides of it like it was his only lifeline— _to him, it really was—_ but, in the background, the words were still translating in Seonghwa’s brain. “Why did you change your mind?”

Hongjoong huffs. “You said it’s your favourite thing to do, right?” There was a fire in his eyes in the way they hardened on the slope ahead of him, even if he was taking deep breathes to prepare himself for the drop. “Let’s do it.”

Seonghwa blinks his words into memory. 

If he read deeper into them… was Hongjoong willing to overcome his friction with snow for him?

The snow crunching beneath Hongjoong’s boots snaps him from the momentary trance. The tinier boy inches himself forward, bringing the tub closer and closer to the edge. 

Hongjoong could do this. 

He could be afraid of heights and he didn’t like snow, but he would rather face up to the potential risk of death than be the reason for Seonghwa’s disappointment right now.

He grips the edge of the plastic tub tighter, the air thinning when the height of the drop comes into view. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he hears Seonghwa ask if he was ready and, despite his stone-statued form, he nodded, shutting his eyes.

Hongjoong could feel the heartbeat in his _head_. Every sensation in his body was awake, aware of the deathly situation he’d gotten himself into. There was a rush of energy flowing through his veins that demanded him to breathe, deep breaths as he braces for the fall.

When he felt a gentle push on the small frame of his back, he sucks in a breath, tightening the seal on his eyes.

Then, he sled off.

At first, the bumpy rocks hiding beneath the snow sent his sore bottom bouncing on his seat, making him grip the sled _deathly tight._ He bit his lips from the whimpers that threatened to slip from his mouth, braving to keep his cool with the mouse courage that he had.

But above the pounding of his heart, he could hear the distant shouting drifting into his ears, shouting that fuelled a daring crack of an eye open.

It was Seonghwa.

Seonghwa was _cheering_ for him.

_"KIM HONGJOONG!! FLY LIKE THE FUCKING WIIIND!!"_

The bumpy rocks faded from his mind as he released the tight seal of his eyes. The fear that locked him in place was beginning to replace with something much bigger. 

Something that invades all his senses.

The feeling is colossal— the rush of cold wind brushing through his hair, nipping against his cheeks like fairies splitting the air, guiding him down the hill. Thoughts leave his mind as he embraces the pure white sight before him, soaking in every sensation the snowy hill was offering him.

The fear of falling was still there, but there was a new kind of adrenaline flooding his veins, masking above the fear. This monstrous feeling of exhilaration, intoxicating. 

Mindlessly, the corners of his lips curve upwards, welcoming this new feeling that takes over him.

Like his weighted heart had been lifted and carried by the wind. Like as if he'd been released after being anchored to the ground for so long.

In that moment, Hongjoong feels _boundless_.

Lurking deep in his reverie, he didn't notice the end of the slope glaring closer, losing time he needed to skid himself to a stop. Instead, the tub drifts to the side, ice chipping through the air as he's thrown off balance, landing him with his back to the ground. He found himself gasping, eyes untrained towards the sky.

Watching the cloudy mop of pink hair topple to the ground had seized all the excitement growing beneath his skin, worry quickly replacing them.

“Shit.” Seonghwa, who’d been chasing after Hongjoong’s tub since he'd journeyed down the hill, fought with his feet against the snow, rushing to Hongjoong’s side. “Hongjoong, are you okay?”

The boy hadn’t moved, eyes blown wide towards the sky above him, only the rise and fall of his chest indicating movement. Snow bristled between his cotton candy hair, landing in little puffs of crystals on the curves of his nose, cheeks and the hairs of his lashes as Seonghwa searches his face for a hint of expression on his blanked face.

Then, Hongjoong smiles.

The kind of smile that he’d seen years ago when he first met him. The genuine, unfiltered, candid type of smile.

His eyes flicked to Seonghwa’s, meeting him with a starry glint in them. 

“Hwachae, did you see how fast I was going?” Hongjoong laughs, pointing towards the slope he’d just sped down from. “What the fuck did you build that board with? Wings? Because I _swear_ I was flying, Hwachae! FLYING! HAHA!”

Hongjoong grabs his outstretched hand, pulling himself up to his feet with a sudden burst of energy Seonghwa had never known the smaller boy was capable of having. A cocktail mixture of relief and warmth washes over him watching the excitement grow on Hongjoong’s face.

“You really were,” he gently supplies, smile adorning his face as he dusts the snow off the boy's hair as much as he could with the boy bouncing on his feet relentlessly.

“It was like— My mind just— _peeww!!”_ Hongjoong continues, sparkling with the energy of a child, like as if this excitement had finally met an outlet after being pent up inside for so long. “And when I was going down, it was like my stomach was _gone_ and I—“

Seonghwa nods adoringly as he rambles, his smile broadening along with the glow of his cheeks, heart swelling with pride. 

After weeks of watching a stone-hardened Hongjoong guard his heart and emotions with a hellhound’s scowl, this Hongjoong— this childlike Hongjoong with no barricade cordoning off the spilling excitement from escaping— was like a refreshing gift in his eyes. It's what he'd been working so hard for. What he's been pulling even the tiniest strings to build towards.

This happiness that embraces Hongjoong whole.

Seonghwa takes in every flicker of emotion, the tugs of his lips, the glint in his eyes and memorises them like a book. This was what Hongjoong deserved, and what Seonghwa intends to protect for him for as long as he was with him.

“Do you want to go again?” Seonghwa asks gently, supporting him with a warm smile. 

But Hongjoong jolts, as if he’d been electrocuted with the realisation of how out of character he’d been acting. Sheepishly, he turns away, his cheeks redding. “C-Can I… I mean… if you don’t…”

Unwittingly, Seonghwa feels the sudden urge to pinch the _hell_ out of his cheeks.

Though he smirks instead, shifting his weight as he readies his legs in position. “Sure, you can…” his eyes flicker to the tub and Hongjoong notices. “That is, if you can make it to the top first.”

He kicks his feet into action, picking up the tub on his mad dash up the hill. Minical laughter falls from his lips when he hears Hongjoong cursing his name behind him, calling it foul play. His feet sinks deep into the snow, only sheer adrenaline— _and the fact that he's unwilling to let Hongjoong catch up to him—_ kept him going up the hill. When he senses Hongjoong on his tail, he swipes the snow behind him, hearing the boy release yet another string of profanities in his name once again.

* * *

Seonghwa taps his feet rhythmically, humming softly as he waits. He lets his mind wander, replaying the events of the day that had gone unexpectedly well— better than he could’ve imagined.

He had never seen Hongjoong smiled as brightly as he did today, laughed as freely as water flowed. The creases of his frown lines were lost on his face, smoothing in every way that made him look more youthful— _happier_.

Hongjoong deserves happy.

When his name is called out, Seonghwa retrieves the plastic bag from the vendor, thanking and bowing with a smile before he turns away. He takes a peek through the plastic, breathing in the sweet smell of freshly-made _bungeoppang_ that has his mouth watering. 

In the last race down the hill, they’d made a bet on who could reach the bottom first. Even though Seonghwa made down first, Hongjoong was whining insistently that he cheated _— which he really had, throwing snowballs at the smaller boy just to slow him down, but he argues that Hongjoong's shorter legs were the ones to blame—_ so the bungeoppangs were on his treat.

Seonghwa made his way back to where Hongjoong was waiting for him, only to find the boy anchoring a glowering gaze into a patch of dirty snow. His hands were balled into fists, clenching and unclenching as he bites down on a lip.

“Hongjoong? You okay?” Seonghwa raises when he jogs up to him, snapping the boy from his thoughts as he whips his head up, though the crease of his brows fail to relax. “What’s wrong?”

Hongjoong attempts to relax the tension from his shoulders, breathing out the puff of air he’d been holding. “It’s.. nothing. It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Seonghwa’s about to ask when a hoot of whistles slices through the empty air. He snaps his head in its the direction, landing his gaze on a group of young men, drunkenly stumbling over each other, laughing trashily as one winks in their direction. 

“Joong, were they bothering you?” Seonghwa balls his eyes seeing the degenerates continue to make passes, at Hongjoong presumably, as they head down the street, away from them. “What the f—“

“Just leave it.” 

Seonghwa whips his head around, staring back at Hongjoong incredulously. “Are you kidding? Those _trash_ were making filthy passes at you! Aren’t you disgusted—“

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong warns, his face flushing. The curtness in his voice stills him to listen, gulping the tension in his throat.

 _Seonghwa. Not Hwachae._

“Let it go.”

The taller boy backs down, but his eyes never leave Hongjoong’s, raking in disdain. Their day had been going on _so_ _well_ and he didn’t want to ruin it by trampling over Hongjoong’s request. Still, the unsettling rage brewed in his chest. 

But at the corner of his eye, Hongjoong mutters something below his breath, completely missing Seonghwa.

“What was that?”

“I _said—”_ Hongjoong snaps, scowling, though without hostility as his ears shaded a deep crimson. Avoiding his gaze, the boy shoots daggers into the snow he’d been glaring at before, his tone bordering a pout. “—I’m keeping my promise to you. No fights.”

Seonghwa blinks owlishly, unwrapping the words in his mind. The promise— the one he’d forced Hongjoong's pinky around his own in a contract to stay out of trouble. At the time, he hadn’t thought much about it, only wanting Hongjoong to keep himself from getting hurt while he healed his bruises.

But hearing those words… he realised that Hongjoong _did_ care.

A grin spreads softly on Seonghwa’s lips. “Come on, let’s go home.”

He slides his hand around Hongjoong’s wrist, taking the boy by surprise as he tugs him towards the bus stop. Hongjoong doesn’t relieve the rigidity in his body until they settled themselves on the cold, metal seats. The winter night had already sunk in, casting the sky in a pitch darkness with only the bus light to illuminate their surroundings.

Seonghwa hands one of the bread delicacies to Hongjoong, who gratefully accepts it and doesn’t hesitate to munch down hurriedly. The hunger had been snaking their stomachs, having spent their day’s worth of energy in playful chases around the hills. 

When crickets sung through the tranquility of the night, Seonghwa catches himself tilting his head at the boy, a lopsided smile falling on his lips watching the clearing bruise that once darkened the areas of his cheeks, now turning into the milky complexion it’s meant to be. It fills him with a sense of relief knowing that Hongjoong was starting to take better care of himself.

“I really should start charging you for staring,” Hongjoong surmises dryly, biting down another chunk of his bread as he looks away. “You do that a lot.”

Seonghwa coughs the itch in his throat at getting caught, his cheeks reddening. “O-Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’s just—“ he pats his cheeks, cooling the heat underneath. He blames the cold. “Your skin is clearing up from all the bruises. You look… healthier now.”

The boy listens quietly, slowing down his munching to keep his ears peeled.

“I didn't think you'd actually I’m just really grateful that you’re keeping your promise, that’s all.”

Hongjoong pauses, meditated by his own thoughts. He lowers the paper bag away, his eyes half-lidded as he spoke. “Hwachae, you don’t have to do this.”

Seonghwa narrows his eyes, cocking his head in confusion. “What?”

“This,” Hongjoong gestures shortly at the air between them. “This whole thing. You don’t have to care about me. No one ever does.”

Seonghwa bites the cheek of his tongue. He didn’t like the self-depreciation falling from Hongjoong’s mouth. They didn’t belong there. “Hongjoong, you deserve someone who cares. It’s just your luck that that someone happens to be me. You don’t have to be alone anymore, Joong. I told you before. I _want_ to be here. I’m not leaving you when I know you’re hurting. It’s just a sad fact that you can’t get rid of me so easily because I’m born stubborn like that.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Hongjoong snorts, pressing into his bread and watching the filling spill dangerously over the top. 

“I hope you haven’t forgotten. You promised me another sixty-five days with you,” Seonghwa latches on a soft gaze, the warmth of a smile snaking to his lips. “I promised you I was gonna make you feel love, didn’t I?”

Hongjoong hums in response, taking a small bite of his bread.

“Well, that’s what the today was all about.” Seonghwa turns away to the stars littering the sky above them.

“Making you fall back in love with being alive.”

Stillness sneaks into the air between them, the crickets once again bathing the night in their sweet lullabies. Hongjoong stares blankly at Seonghwa, before stiffly turning away, letting the stars blanket the irises of his eyes. When the silence stretched longer, Seonghwa’s heart dips, turning to him, wondering if he’d ruined the atmosphere between them. But Hongjoong’s lips were twitched into the prettiest smile he’d seen on him.

“You got that off Tumblr, didn’t you Shakespeare,” Hongjoong jokes. Seonghwa's face ashens, recoiling with a cough. 

But then, Hongjoong releases effortless laughter, the tension that had been building on his shoulder losing their rigidity. The boy leans his head back against the board of the bus stop, his face still glowing by the smile that graced upon his lips.

“You were right, though. Sledding is fun. Everything we did today was.”

Seonghwa casts a glance his way. He soaks in the soft expression on Hongjoong’s face, each glistening a warmth in his own chest.

“Thank you, Hwachae—” Hongjoong sighs, exhaustion weighing heavily over his eyelids now that his hunger was satiated “—for making me feel alive today.”

Warmth floods his veins at those words, spreading like wildfire as it tantalises his senses. Watching the gleeful calmness settle on the smaller boy’s face, Seonghwa can't help but feel attracted to this newborn feeling.

To him, it was like watching peace had finally taken over the features of Hongjoong's face after having been ravaged by calamitous thoughts for the longest time.

It’s what Hongjoong deserves.

Not to have the bruises take away the youthful glow from his skin.

But to be breathing with _life_ soaking through every one of his features.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did y'all like this chapter??? 👀👀👀
> 
> sorry it's late but ive been busy... (*in tiny voice* hope you haven't given up on this story) but i've outlined what the next chapters are gonna be about so i'm hoping to write quicker!! 
> 
> anyways, on more pressing issues, PLEASE VOTE ON SMA FOR THEM. THEY'RE GETTING THAT BONSANG IDC IT'S WHAT THEY DESERVE 
> 
> other than that, hope you enjoyed this chapter!! please leave kudos and comments if you can~ they make me happy hehe
> 
> follow me on twt @joongtopia_ if you wanna scream about atz w me
> 
> see you in the next chapter~


	4. hurt me, but don't heal me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i meant to update earlier but i was going through a slump. sorry if this feels like a filler chapter or a little lacking, but it's important... (?) 
> 
> anyways, enjoy~
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS // DEPRESSION

“You’re hiding something.”

Seonghwa blinked slowly, his owlish eyes almost distracting Hongjoong from the matter at hand. _Almost_. “What?”

“You’ve been fidgeting with your hair and your bag and not _once_ did you even bring up your Star Wars collection the entire walk to school,” Hongjoong tenses, the worry not boding well beneath his skin. “You’re hiding something from me, aren’t you?”

He tried to ignore it. He really did.

But Seonghwa was being so _loud_ with his actions that he can’t have noticed the way he’d fallen a step behind him on their way to school, nor the fact that he was directing his eye contact at anywhere _but_ Hongjoong. It was when they’d arrived at his first class of the day that he’s decided he’s had enough of this stupid, uncomfortable silence. 

“Did I do something wrong?” 

Immediately, Seonghwa snaps his wide eyes at him, shaking vigorously. “No! Oh my god, Joong, no— I’m sorry. I’ve been acting pretty weird, huh? No, it’s not you. Well, actually it’s _about_ you— but it’s nothing serious! It’s actually really stupid. Like _really really_ stupid. You’re gonna laugh, because of how stupid—“

Two palms anchor themselves to the sides of his cheeks, clasping them tightly together that the squished plumpness of them stops his lips from blabbering any further. In between his palms, Seonghwa bloats like a fish, gawking at Hongjoong’s questioning expression.

“Enough rambling, Hwachae. What did you want to ask me?” the boy asks, dripping anything but annoyance in his tone.

Seonghwa lowers his hands, his cheeks heating up despite the loss of heat from Hongjoong's palms. “Ok, don’t get mad but—“ he’s forced to drop his shoulders at the cheeky glance of Hongjoong’s eyes. “My friends wanna meet you.”

The latter cocks a brow in surprise, staring fixedly at him. “That’s it? You were nervous for shit to tell me this because what?” His eyes narrowed briefly, testing waters. “Are you afraid I’m gonna mess things up?”

“What? No, Joong— You’re great. I trust you. It’s _them_ I’m worried about,” Seonghwa deepens his sigh, pinching the area between his eyes in frustration. “They can be quite… overbearing.”

Hongjoong cocks his head to a side, the words passing by him completely. He didn’t understand what Seonghwa was getting at. Overbearing? Wasn’t Hongjoong the definition of overbearing?

“It’s nothing serious—“ Seonghwa quickly waves off, seeing the confusion contorted on the other boy’s face. “They just wanna meet the person I’ve been spending all my time with.”

“They sound like they’re your parents.”

Seonghwa snorts. “Most of the time, I feel like I’m theirs.”

Hongjoong couldn’t contemplate for long. On one hand, these are Seonghwa’s friends. People who’ve known him for longer than /he/ has, who cherished him more than _he_ did. 

He already had a bad reputation to his name— _and there was this ‘Woo’ who already had his vices against him—_ but the thought of giving a bad impression _—_ _and Hongjoong was more than capable of giving bad impressions_ — in front of his friends would ultimately hurt Seonghwa, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. 

But on the other hand, this is _Seonghwa_. 

The realisation that Seonghwa had become a precious friends had gutted him every night and haunted him everyday. Seonghwa had become his crutches in grappling with a world he was only still learning to walk in. 

He couldn’t lose Seonghwa over this.

“I’ll be there,” Hongjoong answers tersely.

Seonghwa snaps his head up, his eyes bulging wide. “Wait. You sure?”

Like hell he was. 

But Hongjoong was going to make the effort, of course. He knows that if he wanted to continue this friendship with Seonghwa, he needed to place himself on good terms with the people Seonghwa surrounded himself with. 

“You’re buying me lunch in exchange,” the words slipping his tongue in a pout.

* * *

This was a terrible idea.

There weren’t many things that Seonghwa regrets in his life, but this had to take the cake. No, he saw this coming. The reason why he’d been so _adamant_ on keeping his friends away from Hongjoong.

“— and that time Hwa hyung decided to cut his own bangs on picture day? Historical. You should’ve seen it! He looked like a toothbrush! Wait— I think I still have the picture—”

“Okay, San. You may shut up now,” Seonghwa groans, exasperation leaving his lips as he attempts to hide himself in his hands.

“Boo. Park Seonghwa’s boring. Boo,” San sulks, though not perturbed in the slightest, only leaning closer towards Hongjoong to slip more of his secrets.

Seonghwa wasn’t even sure why Hongjoong had agreed to do this. He could’ve easily brushed it off and he would understand. He knows the boy didn’t like to be in crowds, nonetheless, be the centre attention of the people who always seem to act like one.

But when he looks over to the smaller boy, Seonghwa can’t hide the amusement in his eyes when he sees him smiling, squinting from the sheer force of laughter of his cheeks.

Mingi had an arm slung around Hongjoong’s shoulder, wavering from side to side in cheerful taunts. Jongho and Yeosang doing what they do best; swiping food from everyone else’s lunches, whereas San was making it his sole duty to expose Seonghwa with all the embarrassing stories he’d mistakenly shared with the group. Wooyoung, though, had been unusually quiet, but nothing would stop the younger from throwing in his two cents on the ‘Humiliate Park Seonghwa’ agenda.

“—and the time we had a fitness test for long jump and when hyung leapt, he let out the biggest fart—“

“OKAY!” Seonghwa snaps, slamming his palms into the table. “Joong, I’ll pay you in gold right now if you erase whatever they’ve said from your memory.”

“Nah, I’m good. This is worth more than gold,” Hongjoong laughs, squeezing the laughter from his cheeks. “Oh my god. It hurts. My cheeks actually hurts.”

“Loser. Don’t laugh then.”

“Can’t help it. Your embarrassing stories are lethal. Toothbrush bangs?”

“Lock your doors tonight, Kim Hongjoong. I’m a nightmare with scissors.”

“Seonghwa hyung,” Jongho pipes in, snapping the two from getting lost in their momentary world. “Buy us some rice, would you? We still have leftover soup from Yeosang’s ramyun.”

Muttering a subtle _'_ _these bastards'_ , Seonghwa ruffles through his pockets for his leftover cash. He’d only just pulled them out when they were snatched away from him, the culprit gleaming with a sly smile.

“I’ll get it.” Hongjoong slides out of his seat. “Then you don’t have to worry about them telling me anything more while I’m gone.” 

Seonghwa would’ve fallen for it if he didn’t know him any better. “Brat. You’re just gonna get something for yourself too, aren’t you?”

“I can’t hear you…“ Hongjoong doesn’t wait another second, removing himself from the impending glare on his back.

He leaves with Seonghwa's eyes trailing at his retreating back, a sigh falling short from his lips. Not that Seonghwa minded much since he would’ve bought him whatever he wanted anyway. Personally, he’d been grateful for the kind of relationship that they’d slipped into, with Hongjoong becoming increasing comfortable with initiating playful banter around him. So, a smartass, playful Hongjoong? He can deal with. What's one more to the bunch he already has?

“Damn, hyung,” San raises, stealing his attention back around. “I thought you were going to introduce us to your friend. Not your boyfriend.”

Saliva shoots down the wrong side of his throat, making him choke. “W-What?”

“Hwa hyung has a boyfriend now,” Mingi wipes a non-existent tear from the corner of his eye. “They grow up so fast.”

Seonghwa's hand attacks the back of Mingi's head faster than the fake tears falling from the latter's face. “We’re _not_ dating. It was hard enough to become friends, you think Hongjoong would even _think_ about dating?”

“Hyung, he calls you Hwachae, lets you take him out on dates, and when he first sat around the table, he scooted closer to you for comfort when he felt intimidated by us,” San casually drops, as if stating the obvious. He points his spoon in his direction, his eyes turning into slits. “Don’t think I didn’t see you in the hallway earlier today either. He was cupping your cheeks? What was _that_ about?”

Seonghwa feels the heat slowly rushing up his neck, even as he tugged the scarf around him tighter. He hadn’t even thought about anyone else observing them in such way, let alone his friends. From an outsider’s point of view, he could see why they would’ve made such assumptions, but even the thought of Hongjoong seeing him as something more than a friend was appalling. Hongjoong? The almighty Hongjoong?

“You and Kim Hongjoong dating. I’m manifesting this.” Dramatically, as always, San channels the energy from his brain with his fingers, squeezing his eyes tight.

Seonghwa doesn’t hesitate to respond with a smack to his head, ignoring their stares— _and, from the corner of his eyes, Wooyoung’s glare._ He perks up at the sight of his friend, hunching over begrudgingly to their table.

“Yeosang ah, you still into archery?” Yunho’s off-putting question grabs their attention as he slips into their already crowded table with Yeosang nodding into the straw of his juice. “Great. I’ll give you the honour of shooting me dead.”

Yunho slams his forehead against the table, snaking his arms around his head before releasing a loud, frustrating groan. Mingi uses his hand free of his sandwich to rub his back, soothing him. “New kid giving you trouble?”

“Major asshole. Like, captain of the assholes. No, wait—“ Yunho pops his head up briefly. “That’d be an insult to assholes.”

“Ugh, I’d never be part of student body because of this. I don’t get why they make you show the newbies around. It’s not like we go to the White House for school,” Jongho adds, setting down a sandwich for his friend.

“I’ve met a fair bunch of dickheads, but this new guy takes the cake,” Yunho unwraps the plastic from the sandwich, shuddering as he spoke. “He’s the most narcissistic, rude, disgusting, vulgar— dude even the thesaurus can’t cough up enough words. Apparently, this is the third college he’s transferred to because of his behaviour. He’s stirred trouble in every other school in the neighbourhood. Has no one ever thought of throwing him into some kind of rehab centre?”

Yunho wasn’t usually the type to badmouth others. He had the patience of a monk, which made him such a quality character in customer service and as president of the student body. So, to have him releasing this much animosity towards someone— “this person must be some kind of A-class asshole then.”

“Enough about him,” Yunho groans, straightening his back. “What were you all talking about before?”

“Seonghwa hyung’s new boyfriend.”

“Oh, Kim Hongjoong?”

“Um, hello? Has this been a running joke in the group?”

Yunho laughs. “How’s your love fest going anyways, hyung?” 

“Oh my god, _never_ say that again,” Seonghwa glares in warning, only to be on the receiving end of more snickering. Yet, he drops his head, thoughtfully thinking over the question. “It’s been, what— forty-seven days? And everyday’s been a blessing, I guess.”

_To have him alive. To have him happy._

“Well, love fest or not, Hongjoong-ssi looks really happy. He’s not what the rumours paint him at all,” Yeosang pops a grape into his mouth, shooting a quick glance in Hongjoong’s lost trail. Seonghwa flinches at the mention of those rumours. He’s never bothered to look deeper into them, but — _and Wooyoung shifts uncomfortably in his peripheral_ — he knows of it. “He’s actually really nice.”

“Yeah, Hwa hyung, he’s not bad at all. He’s really fun! I like him.”

Seonghwa can’t help it if his heart was bursting with pride hearing the praises coming from his friends about Hongjoong. His cheeks were glowing just thinking about it. That people were finally beginning to see him for the Hongjoong that _he_ knows. The Hongjoong he felt an immense pride of knowing.

“That’s Joongie for you. He’s full of surprises. The more you get to know him, the more you can’t help but like that guy,” Seonghwa grins, his mind replaying the words he said that, even remembering them, made his heart flutter in joy.

_“You said it’s your favourite thing to do, right? Let’s do it.”_

_“I’m keeping my promise to you.”_

_“Thank you, Hwachae, for making me feel alive.”_

Maybe they were plain words that didn’t mean much, but they were words that came from _Hongjoong_. He's never tried drugs- _nor was he ever going to-_ but if those substances induced a giddy feeling with blood rushing straight to his cheeks, then Seonghwa would know what that felt like. It's the intoxicating effect of having Hongjoong around.

Suddenly, his right cheeks burns from an electrifying cold that causes him to jerk up from his seat, his heart pounding from the sudden chill when his eyes come face to face with the culprit. 

Hongjoong leans on a hip, his nonchalant stare boring right through him as he plays with the popsicle stick in his mouth. In his hand, a nicely, wrapped stick of ice cream with subtle prints of _his_ makeup on a side of the wrapper.

“What the fuck, Joong!” Seonghwa swipes the droplets from his cheeks as his traitor friends erupts into laughter behind him.

With a smirk, Hongjoong surmises, popping the stick from his mouth. “Your cheeks were heating up. I was only trying to cool you down.” He tosses the unopened packet from his hands over to Seonghwa. “It’s my turn to make you fall in love, Hwachae.” The boy brandishes the popsicle across his face. “Fall in love with this brand of ice cream.”

“I can’t believe you’re eating ice cream in the middle of winter,” Seonghwa scrunches his nose, tearing out the wrapper anyways. 

“You’ll thank me later. Consider this my early Christmas gift to you.”

“That you bought with my money.”

“Don’t dwell on the little things, Hwachae.”

San nudges his hyung from the side, and when Seonghwa turns to look at him, the younger winks and whispers a quick “manifesting” with his gestures.

Seonghwa doesn’t even have time to roll his eyes because Hongjoong is already tugging him from the side. “Hwachae, I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Oh, I’ll come with.”

Hongjoong snaps his head around to him, his brows raised in surprise before the familiar smirk takes his lips. “Ooooh, kinky.”

It takes a moment for the implication to register in Seonghwa’s mind, but when it did, he struggles to refrain himself from delivering a flick to Hongjoong’s forehead, though eventually settled for an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

Introducing Hongjoong to his friends was like throwing fish into water.

“Okay, pervert. I’ll meet you in class instead.” He delivers a soft knee to the boy’s buttock, who only laughs before heading in the direction of the bathrooms. “I’ll see you guys later.”

The square of San’s shoulders told him that the boy was itching to tease, and this time, Seonghwa didn’t hold back, delivering a forehead flick that would surely bruise before he huffed off. Only when they left did a grating voice slice through the air, stealing the remaining boys’ attention.

“Yah, pres!”

Yunho bloats his cheeks with gritted teeth, visibly rolling his eyes behind his eyelids. A heavy breath leaves his lips before plastering a smile that dripped insincerity in its place. “Junghwan-ssi. I thought you had biology right now?”

A new face slides into their view, his lanky form cladded in all sorts of leathery smells attack their nose. The rest continue to watch the slit-eyed man bends down to swing an arm around Yunho’s shoulders.

“Prof there is boring as hell. They’re not even hot enough for my attention,” this _Junghwan_ shoves Mingi to the side, making space for himself next to Yunho before grabbing the one of Jongho’s sandwiches, ignoring the disgusted glare from the boy. He nods in the direction of the two. “Anyways, was that Kim Hongjoong I saw leaving?”

Yunho narrows his eyes. “Yeah. Why?”

The man sickeningly smirks, chewing down on the sandwich. “Interesting.”

* * *

Hongjoong walks up the steps of his studio apartment, exhaustion clinging onto the last nerves of his legs. He hated the extra effort he had to put into walking through the snow- _he has short legs, it's not his fault-_ with the thickness of the ice drowning his boots with every step he took.

But today, snow had been the farthest thing from his mind.

Today, he’d been floating among the clouds.

He’d memorised every single of them. Every crease of dimpled smiles. Every rock of shoulders from spilling laughter. Every appraising glance around him. They burned through the folds of his mind, illuminating every he looked in bright colours.

When was the last time he saw the world in such brightness? 

His surroundings glowed in soft hues, his thoughts were coloured in pastels and the rush of adrenaline that snakes through his veins weren’t that of the murky acid he’d gotten so used to. Instead, they breathed electrifying shades of colours into his system. All the good kinds.

' _Oh shit, Hwachae’s shakespearian-ness is rubbing off of him’,_ Hongjoong laughs to himself.

The corners of his lips tug upwards of their own accord. Heat travels the stream up his neck, spreading a fresh warmth glaze over his cheeks. It feels stupid— _he feels_ stupid. Gushing over the image of Seonghwa in his mind like a preschooler.

It was a quick, sneaky glance, but Hongjoong had seen it.

The way Seonghwa had caressed him so gently with his eyes, offering a twinkled smile when he thought Hongjoong wasn’t looking.

Haphazardly keying the code into his lock system, Hongjoong lets the soft smile take over his lips. Maybe it was due to the fact that they had been spending so much time together, but lately, every corner of his mind had been filled with _Seonghwa, Seonghwa, Seonghwa._

 _'You did well, Hongjoong,'_ he muses himself.

The door shuts gently behind him, the familiar jingle of the forming locks bringing him back to reality.

Then, the noise in his mind drowns, his thoughts flatlining at the sound of silence that greets him.

Mustering a pause, Hongjoong forces himself to look up.

He hates this part.

The evening sun had already been setting, casting the empty living room in shades of inky darkness. The silence blares loud in his ears, drowning his thoughts once again. Like the flick of a switch, his mind flickers into autopilot as he monotonously shuffles into his cold apartment. 

He hates it. The cold, emptiness of his apartment.

Feet navigate themselves to his bedroom, tossing his bag into a corner he knows he’ll have to sift through the darkness in the morning to find it again. But right now, he hadn’t had a single thought of it, making his way to the bed and lowering mechanically slow into the mattress.

The sheets remain as cold as ice as it’s always been and Hongjoong can’t find a single effort in his bones to turn the heater up. Instead, the white noise in his brain takes charge, numbing his senses completely as he lowers his head into the mess of blankets. 

Hongjoong doesn’t know what else to do but let his mind dive into the dark whiteness of his ceiling. He’s had his legs hanging off the bed in an angle that would surely grieve him with pins and needles when he got up, but he’d already melted too deeply into the bed to care. Instead, he tries to observe the slow movements of his breathing while his mind bores into the ceiling, making him nothing but the familiar flatness in his chest.

_This is your reality._

He shuts his eyes and they sting from the dryness of staring for so long.

_Pathetic. Attention seeker._

He shuts them tighter, feeling the tightness in his chest making itself known once again. He holds his breath in an attempt to drown his thoughts with the pounding of his heart.

_They will never love you._

Hongjoong creeps over to his side, curling himself in. His hands stick themselves in between the icy blankets, clenching around the velvety material.

This was the hardest part. 

His thoughts were the fiercest monsters he’d known.

He used to be able to deal with them with the only way he knew how— letting the multiple blows and kicks dull his thoughts away until he’d been completely knocked out. Then, he found that the monsters would quieten themselves around Seonghwa, as if Seonghwa had been this ethereal being that isolated him from his thoughts.

But when he’s alone… he’s _powerless_.

_Weak._

_Replaceable._

Hongjoong lets a shaky breath release from the pools of his lungs, shaking every fibre of his body. A sharp, guttering slice of _hurt_ penetrates straight through his chest, making him choke back a pathetic sob. 

_Stop this. You’re pathetic._

_Stop being such a child._

His hands snake themselves to his ears, the battle of voices in his mind becoming too overwhelming.

_You’re being pathetic._

_He’ll end up leaving you too._

The phone in the pocket of his parka buzzes and the hot flashes from his body wash away, leaving him cold once again. His eyes part themselves from the deplorable darkness, landing on the inky blots of his ceiling. The stringing white noise blends into his hearing as the weight of his chest grows emptier.

His phone buzzes again and Hongjoong mindlessly slides a hand to reach for it.

 **hwachae:** firstly, id like to apologise on behalf of my stupid friends for the unnecessary stories they told you  
 **hwachae:** secondly, if you would kindly bang your head against the wall and lose memory of those stories, that would be much appreciated

The text on screen illuminates his face, and for a second, they sting his eyes from the intrusive brightness. The longer he stared, the more the words began to blur, fusing into unreadable lines. His mind numbs again, letting his fingers slide across the screen on their own.

_Everyone leaves you in the end._

_You’re just unloveable._

“Joong, I swear, take those stories to your _grave_ or ill personally kill you myself.” 

The sweet, honey voice attracts him back into his body again. Hongjoong’s eyes widen, realising that he’d dialled Seonghwa’s number when he was detached from his own body. He stares at the contact on his phone, the time ticking itself the longer the silence dragged on with the other waiting for his response.

“Joong, you there?” 

The kinder side of his brain finally stirs awake. _It's him!_

“… S-Seonghwa?”

A sudden latch in his throat barricades him from speaking any further. He had straightened himself onto the headboard of his bed, fingers trembling over his phone as he attempts to soften the beats of his heart.

“…Hongjoong, what’s wrong?” Seonghwa had dropped all notes of humour, his words lacing with a serious tone in them.

On the other hand, Hongjoong doesn’t know how to answer. 

What _was_ wrong?

There was nothing wrong. Hongjoong had dialled him when he was out of his mind. There was no reason, no answer.

_N_ _othing because all you want is attention, you piece of shit._

“S-Seonghwa, can you just—“ Hongjoong licks the dryness of his lips, teeth trembling. “Can you just… talk to me?”

His words hang in the air as the silence drags on. Panic begin to teeter the edges of his mind, worried that he’d said something weird, He nearly swabs his thumb over the end call button. This was a mistake—

“Did you know that San thought Santa was his dad?”

Seonghwa’s voice cuts through the silence abruptly that it takes a moment for Hongjoong to process what he’s said.

“…huh?”

“Yeah… ever since he found his dad’s Santa suit in his basement, he won’t shut up about it. He tells _everyone_ to be grateful to his dad for working so hard on Christmas,” Seonghwa fills the gap with his honey voice and a sigh, tugging the edges of Hongjoong’s lips so effortlessly.

“Haha, I can imagine little kiddy San doing that,” Hongjoong muses.

“Kiddy? What makes you think he’s not still doing it?” Seonghwa releases a disappointed _tch_ , stealing a breathless laugh from Hongjoong.

He can believe that, after meeting the vibrant, yet childish person that San was. Least to say, he’s not at all surprised.

“Oh, and Mingi? He’s the biggest dork when it comes to anime,” Seonghwa snickers, making the simplest of sounds the catalyst to Hongjoong’s ever-growing smile. “He dragged us to a convention last year and the dude’s legs jellied every time he recognised his favourite characters being cosplayed.

Hongjoong pictures the cool, laid back Mingi he met today. To colour the image with the sputtering mess that Seonghwa was describing to him now was endearing to imagine. Mingi has a cute side— Hongjoong makes a mental note of that.

“Oh— you should know that Yunho—“

For the rest of the call, Seonghwa decorated the silence with his alluring voice, delving deeper into stories of his friends, their childhood growing up and, not to mention, the humiliating anecdotes that left too much room to imagine. On a side note, Hongjoong speculates, with the direction these recounts were heading, that Seonghwa was taking the sweet opportunity for revenge on his friends.

By the time Seonghwa had finished relating the poor account of San’s detergent-tasting dessert, Hongjoong was reduced to _tears_. He’s banged his head against the headboard too hard a couple of times from throwing his head back in laughter. Now that his lungs were all spent, they’d slipped into a comfortable silence and, for once, Hongjoong doesn’t mind it.

He twirls the corner of his blanket in a hand, his head bent right next to his phone with the speaker on, the sound of Seonghwa’s rhythmic breaths turning into his new favourite lullaby. His eyelids hang heavily and he feels himself drooping closer to sleep, until Seonghwa breaks the silence again.

“What are you thinking about now?”

“Besides your toothbrush bangs?”

“My finger is hovering over the end call button.”

“Sensitive,” Hongjoong giggles, before he stops to mull over the question more thoughtfully, the smile taking his lips softly. If he’s looked at himself now, he’s sure his eyes would twinkle the more he thought about it. “I guess… I’m really glad you were stupid enough to chase after me.”

Flashes of their first encounter at the cafe in the middle of a blizzard strikes through his mind. Even though he’d been barely hanging on to consciousness, he recalled the gaps in his memory when Seonghwa saved him from an attack and carried him to get him treated. 

Hongjoong’s bite-sized heart left little room for much, yet, Seonghwa has taken up a large space in there that it was getting harder to breathe.

His smile falters.

“Joong…” Seonghwa pauses on the other end of the line and Hongjoong turns to the speaker. “You don’t have to act so strong all the time. It’s okay not to be okay. You were great today. Well, you're great everyday.”

Hongjoong shuts his eyes, the words sifting through his mind, enveloping his muted thoughts with a warm comfort he’d never known before. They float around the darkness of his mind, their glow dimming.

Then, as it always has, the words twist wickedly in his mind, distorting the sympathy that was meant to reassure him. Instead, they berate him— mock him for something he’s already known before.

They always do.

“I’m not here to judge, Joong. If you need to vent or if you ever need something from me, I promise I’ll do everything I can for you.”

Seonghwa had sounded so earnest through the phone, sincerity dripping from the tone of his voice. Yet, Hongjoong can’t stop his heart from dipping, curling his fingers tighter around the sheets.

_Don’t make promises you can’t keep._

“I’m always here for you. Always.”

Hongjoong sinks his teeth onto his bottom lip. Shakily, he replies, "I know." Though his mind betrays.

_No you won’t._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not @ me changing the plot every chapter hehe sorry if the story doesn't seem as consistent as usual, but it'll make sense soon, i promise!! (ive changed the tags)
> 
> as always, leave kudos and comments!! very much gladly greatfully amazingly spiderman 2 would appreciate it!!
> 
> see yall in the next chapter~


	5. warm me with your cold heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm early (ish) !!!
> 
> This was my favourite chapter to write. I loved writing through all of it.
> 
> heads up though, my brain is jelly right now so excuse the grammar mistakes and whatnot.
> 
> ANyways, angst with fluff ahead!
> 
> Enjoy~

The cafeteria table shook subtly like a low earthquake from Seonghwa’s incessant bouncing. Every few seconds, he’d flicker his eyes to the double doors of the cafeteria, looking out for a certain pink-haired individual. With every minute that’d passed with no sign of Hongjoong, his leg was starting to suffer from the crawling cramps in them.

“Ah, hyung!” Mingi groans, picking up tissues to swipe the soup that had spilt onto his corner of the table thanks to Seonghwa’s anxious foot. “I might actually just tranquillise you.”

Seonghwa mutters a quick apology, though his eyes dart back towards the double doors as if they were roped onto it. Yeosang observes him from across the table, flicking his gaze back and forth from him to the doors.

“What’s up with him?”

“He hasn’t seen Hongjoong hyung all day,” San replies nonchalantly, more interested in the japchae that Jongho had packed in his lunchbox. “Hyung is just having Hongjoong withdrawal symptoms.”

Seonghwa glares at him from the corner of his eye, berating him in his mind because San was wrong. 

Seonghwa hadn’t seen Hongjoong in _four_ days.

Maybe he would’ve noticed sooner when Hongjoong had been increasingly distant in exchanging texts. Usually, Seonghwa would have his phone glued to his hands, fingers dancing ferociously across the screen as the two of them would talk late into the night. But up until recently, Hongjoong had sent him less than engaged replies, half hearted and more or less ending the conversation before it had even really began.

To say the least, Seonghwa had his heart dipping in disappointment every time he’d sent a _‘hey, how’s ur day? :)’_ only to be met with a dispiriting _‘good’_ almost two hours later. Even then, his heart had plunged even deeper into the ocean of his stomach when Hongjoong would refuse to go out with him, conjuring up an excuse to say that he was ‘busy’.

No matter how far he’d delved back, disassembling everything he did leading up to the present, he can’t for the life of him begin to figure out what he’d done to make the latter give him the cold shoulder.

Or maybe Seonghwa was being overly dramatic. Maybe he should accept that, despite how close they’d grown, Hongjoong still had a life outside of him.

But he didn’t want to accept it.

What he wants is to be a part of Hongjoong's life.

“Oh, hyung, isn’t that Hongjoong?” San’s abrupt voice snaps him out of his reverie. Though maybe it was at the mere mention of Hongjoong’s name that made him whip his head around, eyes desperately searching in the direction San had pointed him in.

Truth be told, it _is_ him.

But it’s also… not.

Seonghwa’s eyes balled into rounding moons, catching the frame of the smaller boy walking across the cafeteria as he talks with another man. But that was least surprising. What caught him- _all of them_ \- wide eyed, mouth agape was the lack of cotton candy locks on his hand. In addition to the new style of clothes he had on.

“Damn, he’s hot,” Mingi notes pointedly, and Seonghwa’s brain buzzes in agreement.

Hongjoong was harbouring a fresh coat of black, shiny locks, the peek of his hair sporting an undercut, giving him an edgy look. The black leather jacket and tight jeans did nothing but support the edginess fringing from him despite his small frame. Even as he saunters over to the other side of the cafeteria, it was clear that Hongjoong had been stealing more than Seonghwa’s breath— he was stealing everyone’s attention.

“Hongjoongie hyung!” San slices through the air, his cutesy tone turning heads, Hongjoong included. 

Even with the distance, Seonghwa takes in the way the corners of his lips crinkle into a smile, tucking a thumb into his palm as he waves in response. Before heading towards their table, he’d bounced to the tip of his toes to whisper something into the ear of the taller man next to him— _Seonghwa’s fingers curl on their own in his lap—_ who’d only took one glance their way and nodded.

“What’s up, guys?” Hongjoong greets as he reaches their table, though he’d only been skirting on the edges, not taking a seat.

“Hyung, when did you get so sexy?” Mingi whistles, eyeing him from head to toe— not that Seonghwa _wasn’t_ doing the same. 

Hongjoong had his hair slicked back and only now that he was up close did he notice the dark blue highlights in his hair and the studded choker decorating his neck. Beneath the biker’s jacket that he had on, a tight tee hugged his body, accentuating his curves in all the right places. Boots that hiked to his ankles fitted well with the slim fit jeans he was pulling off. It’s a good thing that Hongjoong had decided to leave out makeup from his face because the addition of smoky eyes would d _efinitely_ be lethal— and Seonghwa’s heart was not the strongest.

Redness tinge against the pale of his cheeks as Hongjoong throws a sheepish smile. “I was trying out something new. Do you like it?”

Even though the question had been thrown to the table, Seonghwa— _at least in his Hongjoong-starved mind_ — thinks that it had personally been thrown to him. Not that he was eager to confirm now that his eyes were anchored to the floor, too weak to be redirected to the living art standing next to him.

“I think leather was made for you, hyung,” Jongho replies coolly and Seonghwa briefly wonders how his friend could even _breathe_ in the presence of this celestial being.

“If looks could kill, hyung," San continues. "I’d have been reincarnated and suffer the same death over and over again already.”

“You’re too much, San,” Hongjoong laughs. “But thank you.”

“Seriously though, hyung,” Mingi pipes in. Once again, Seonghwa deliberates where his friends were finding this confidence from and why wasn’t he granted the same. “You look so good you make people turn to stone. Just look at Hwa hyung. He hasn’t moved since you walked in."

At the mention of his name, Seonghwa’s heart detaches itself from it’s place in his chest and leaps to the bottom of his stomach. Cold flashes through to the tips of his fingers, stilling him rigid when he feels eyes burn into him.

_What the fuck are you doing, Seonghwa? It’s just Hongjoong. Say something, you moron._

“If I recall correctly, Hwa hyung had been itching to meet you, Hongjoongie hyung,” San sniggers, twirling a fork into the japchae. “Can someone check if Hwa hyung is still alive?”

Seonghwa takes in a deep breath. Why was he so nervous anyway? It’s _just_ Hongjoong. Stupid, foul mouth, snarky Hongjoong. 

_Hongjoong, who’s been screening his calls, half heartedly replying his texts messages and hadn’t seen in a while Hongjoong._

Seonghwa raises his anchored gaze from the ground. “Hongjoon—“

“Shit, I have to go,” Hongjoong intercepts, eyes twinkling towards the cafeteria doors. When Seonghwa shifts his eyes, the man who had entered the cafeteria with Hongjoong earlier was there, throwing middle fingers with a toothy smirk. “Nam Junghwan, that jackass.” Seonghwa catches him muttering and his gaze returns to the boy next standing to him, though the latter had his eyes narrowly glued to the man ahead, a different smile taking his lips. 

“Tell the rest I said hi, yeah?” Hongjoong doesn’t wait for a reply, stalking towards the direction of the cafeteria doors, leaving behind some very confused boys and fallen cracks in Seonghwa’s expression. They continue to watch in muted silence as Hongjoong joins the man at the doors, the two exchanging a couple of rough housing smacks to each other.

“Hyung…” 

Seonghwa can’t peel his eyes away from Hongjoong— particularly the lifted expression that had contorted it’s way through his face. How easily it had.

“Hyung… did you and…” Yeosang turns to Seonghwa, clearing his throat. “What happened between you two?”

What _did_ happen? 

It was only days ago that he and Hongjoong had been attached to the hip with each other. They had been closer than _ever_. Hongjoong was beginning to open up to him, initiate conversations and even return his smiles with his one of his own genuinely. Their relationship had been healthier than ever—

...so then what went wrong?

Seonghwa forces down a lump in his throat. “I don’t know.”

  
With the growing absence of Hongjoong by his side, Seonghwa doesn’t know what to think. He’d grown overly conscious with his phone, with every notification that goes off building a needless hope that belonged to Hongjoong, disappointment crowding him every time. Yet, the lack of communication was getting to him and he had no way of floating above these fears except to drown someone else with it.

“What did I do wrong, Woo? Did I offend him somehow? Why is he ghosting me?” The questions fire from his mouth, only stopping to chug down on his second bottle of soju. “I mean, I guess I should be glad that he hasn’t hurt himself lately—“ an attractive burp escapes him “— but why won’t he talk to me? We were fine, weren’t we?”

The heat from the alcohol rising to his cheeks, painting them a pale pink, Seonghwa sways from his seat as he pours another glass for himself. Before a quarter of the burning liquid even fills the glass, the bottle is wrenched out of his hands.

“Okay lightweight, you’re done for the day,” Wooyoung settles the bottle away from him, his brows scrunched together at the state of his friend. The bar tent was fairly empty for the night but Wooyoung’s certain the current patrons weren’t exactly fond of Seonghwa’s constant lamenting. “God, you’re such a wreck over just one boy.”

Seonghwa lands a fist on the table, though Wooyoung wasn’t rattled in the slightest as it shook. The older boy narrows his eyes, seriousness lacing in them, nevermind the hiccup that escapes him. “This isn’t _just_ a boy. This is Hongjoong!“ 

If Seonghwa had been more sober, maybe he would’ve noticed the hurt that flashes through the other boy’s eyes, or the way his lips fell at his admission, but he wasn’t.

“And who’s that Junghwan dude he’s been hanging out with? What’s that little shit got that I don’t, huh?” Seonghwa hiccups, curling his fingers into a fist remembering the face of the man that stole _his_ man away. “He’s not good for him. No no.” He squeezes his eyes for a moment, wagging a finger before turning it to himself, nodding. _“I_ am good for him. Me. Park Seonghwa.”

“Hwa hyung…” Wooyoung sighs, casting his gaze away, falling silent. He bites on his lips, thawing it red before downing the soju straight from the bottle. Seonghwa doesn’t catch the muddled words that leave the boy’s mouth.

“You know what?” Seonghwa straightens himself, feeling bold. “I’m gonna text him.” He whips out his phone and Wooyoung watches distantly. “Hang out—“ his fingers dance drunkenly across the screen, though the words appear albeit more slurred “—with me… this Saturday… you idiot… or I will… kick. your. ass. Done.” 

The text bubble forms and float on the screen and a satisfying smile beams across his face. Seonghwa crosses his arms together proudly. He’s done it and he’s proud. He’s the bigger person in this situation. He was going to keep to his words. He’s the king—

 _Wait_.

His eyes blow wide open. Seonghwa fumbles for his phone, palms sweating as he unlocks it. The words form before his eyes glaringly, and he gasps, throwing his phone to the table. The alcohol immediately saps from his mind.

 **seonghwa:** hanng out wit me tihs sattturda or I w ill kiss ur asss

_kiss your ass_

**_KISS YOUR ASS_ **

“WOOYOUNG!!” Seonghwa’s eyes fly towards his friend. Past his unbothered expression, Wooyoung arches a brow. “IT TYPED KISS YOUR ASS. IT FUCKING TYPED- SHIT.”

Before he can even process, the ping from his phone steals another loud gasp from him. Seonghwa jumps from his seat, the plastic chair screeching against the floor, not minding the heads that turn sternly. He peeks slowly towards the screen.

His heart plunges, taking a dive towards the deepest bowels of his stomach. 

**joongie:** oh?

May the fires of Hell swallow him up and burn his bones _right now._

Wooyoung chuckles, shaking his head as he pours another glass.

It pings again and Seonghwa wants to die. He’s lived his life well enough. He hopes his mother remembers him well.

Yet, he takes the bravest step, creaking an eye.

**joongie:** my ass appreciates the offer but ok  
 **joongie:** saturday what time?

“WOOYOUNG!!” Seonghwa swipes his phone from the table, grasping it tight, reading the text over and over again. He turns the screen to Wooyoung. “He agreed? Did he just agree? Is this a yes? Did he say yes?”

Before Wooyoung can even respond, Seonghwa pulls his chair back towards the table, waddling forward. “You have to help me, Woo. You’re the only one I trust. We have to plan the best outing yet!”

Wooyoung drags his gaze over the contorted features on Seonghwa’s face as he focuses on his phone, eyebrows pulled together with a tongue over his lips. Over the years they’d grown up next to each other, Wooyoung had always admired the way Seonghwa had grown into his sculpted features, giving him a handsomely chiseled jaw, a high bridge of his nose and pretty stars in his eyes. 

Those stars, though, were focused on the screen on his phone right now.

And the smile that graced his perfectly formed lips weren’t for him.

Wooyoung releases a soft sigh, forcing the corners of his lips to curl. “Okay, hyung.”

* * *

Snow gathers at the corner of his heavy boots and it's the only thing Hongjoong stare at. Listening to the gleeful low humming from the boy next to him, makes him unsettled. The snow, and the sound of Seonghwa’s voice.

Guilt traps him. It seeps into his bones, runs through the course of his mind and calling him pathetically weak for giving into his own desires so easily. 

He had been doing his damn hardest too, using any means to avoid the taller boy next to him whenever he can. He had to. He needed to stop it. This growing affinity; the _desire_ for him, before it grew far too strong, wrapping around his neck like a rope waiting to be pulled. 

He can’t. He _couldn’t_./

Hongjoong isn’t going to let someone have _that_ kind of power over him again. 

But it had been in his moment of weakness. The gaps of his conscious mind when the darkness had set in. The hollowing loneliness that _craved_ the taste of attention Seonghwa had given him. With nothing but the cages of his walls talking to him, the resounding buzz of his phone lit up the darkness of his room and pulling him out of his mind.

His heart had acted first. His mind was regretting it after.

“You owe me a week.”

Hongjoong pulls his gaze from the crowding snow around his feet, meeting two eyes that immediately drowns his thoughts. Seonghwa settles for a wide smile against his lips, shoving his hands into his pockets and shifting his body closer now that he had Hongjoong’s attention.

“We haven’t seen each other in a week. You promised me eighty-one days, didn’t you?” Seonghwa tilts his head, glancing over the blank expression washing over Hongjoong’s face. He turns away after a while, watching the passing cars before his heart could leap out of his chest for the way Hongjoong had looked inexplicably adorable bundled under layers of winter clothing. “I’m adding them on. I don’t want to miss a single day with you.”

Hongjoong bites down on his lips. “Hwa—“

“You were busy,” Seonghwa stops him. “It’s okay.”

The guilt dives deeper into the tissues of his bones. Hongjoong frowns when Seonghwa doesn’t look his way. He was disappointed. They always were. Hongjoong was always good at that.

Being a disappointment.

Hongjoong falls silent, drifting his eyes to zone out on the crumpling snow once again. Even as they wait silently for the bus, Hongjoong digs crescent moons into his palms to stop himself from slipping further into his mind. Not here. Not. Here.

“Hello? Yeah, this is Park Seonghwa.” 

Yes. Good. A distraction. He’ll use Seonghwa’s voice as a distraction.

“Wh… I’m sorry— what did you say?”

There was a sudden slack in Seonghwa’s tone, now laced with something else. Something like terror.

“My mum— She— An accident?” Hongjoong snaps his eyes towards him. Seonghwa was shaking, hands gripping the phone on his ear with white knuckles. His face deathly pale. All the cheeriness from before, gone without a trace. “Wh—Where... Is s—she… O-okay-y.”

The call must have ended when Seonghwa’s hand slips, though his grip on his phone still tight. His lips tremble as he turns to Hongjoong, eyes glossed over in threatening waves of tears. “Hongjoong— my mother— she’s— she’s in the hospital. I-I need to get to the hospital.” Seonghwa’s trembling like a leaf, knees almost buckling as he inches forward. “I need to— the hospital— she’s not okay. Hongjoong, she’s not okay. I need to— I need to get to the hospital—“

“Seonghwa, which hospital?” Hongjoong asks, calm but serious. He holds him steadily, afraid that Seonghwa’s legs would give out on him at any moment. But Seonghwa had been too lost in his own panicked thoughts to answer, his eyes rapidly darting around, breathing growing arrhythmically. “Seonghwa!” The latter jumps at his voice, focusing on Hongjoong’s narrowed eyes. “Which. Hospital.”

“S-sang-gm-mun…”

Hongjoong wastes no time, latching a hand around Seonghwa’s wrist as he pulls him along. He steps out onto the road, holding out a hand to flag down a taxi. Thankfully, one reaches up to them before Seonghwa could collapse from his tremoring.

He leads the shaken boy in first, carefully and gently before sliding himself in. “Ahjussi. Sangmun hospital. Quickly, please.” 

The driver steps on the pedal and Hongjoong sinks his back into the seat with a heavy breath. His heart was beating loud in his ears, the heat building beneath the wraps of his clothes from the fearful words that had escaped Seonghwa’s mouth earlier. But when his eyes latch on to the rapid bouncing of the latter’s knees, Hongjoong forces the worry down his throat, turning his head around.

Seonghwa had his hard stare locked outside the window, though Hongjoong was sure that his mind was traversing through a thousand different anxieties at the moment. His lips were trembling with the first few streaks of tears slipping down his cheeks as he chewed anxiously on his nail. Redness was already peeking through the skin of his thumb, so Hongjoong reaches out, gently pulling his hand away from the brutal attack of his teeth.

When Seonghwa whips his head around, Hongjoong swears the strings of his heart were pulled thin at the broken expression across his face. The shatter in Seonghwa’s eyes didn’t belong there.

Hongjoong readjusts the hand around Seonghwa’s, locking his fingers between his and clasping them tightly. The other boy darts his eyes from the knot of their fingers to Hongjoong’s tender eyes. They weren’t rabid or fearful like his were. They were quietly tranquil, holding him above the waters.

“She’s going to be okay,” Hongjoong reassures him and the words catch Seonghwa in a sharp sob. His lips quiver, the molten tears now freely washing down his cheeks the more fear clawed his chest. Hongjoong reaches for his head, pulling him closer to his chest. “It’s okay. She’s going to be fine. I’ll be right here with you.” 

His fingers thread through the locks of Seonghwa’s hair in calming brushes, letting the latter soak through the material of his coat in choked sobs. Every wretched sound banging like a pan against his heart— but Hongjoong held it in. He has to. Seonghwa needs him to.

Their arrival to the hospital flashes by in a blur. Hongjoong doesn’t even know how much cash he’d passed to the drive because Seonghwa was already bursting out the door. They raced past people, down to the receptionist who guided them to the waiting hall outside an active theatre.

“The surgery won’t take long.”

Yet, every minute ticked on like hours. Seonghwa can barely grasp his head around the details. The words blur in his mind.

_Train station. A long, long flight of stairs. Ice on the steps._

They sounded _too_ much like the beginning of a heartbreaking drama that Seonghwa wasn’t ready for.

This was reality, and reality played dirty tricks that Seonghwa can’t prepare for himself. He could _never_ prepare for something like this.

The rustling of plastic breaks his thoughts and a familiar, triangular snack comes into view. Seonghwa tilts his head, following the trail of the outstretched hand holding the samgak kimbap in front of him.

“Eat.” Hongjoong shakes the packet towards him, locking gazes with his. “You haven’t eaten at all.”

Seonghwa stares blankly. He’d been physically there, but his mind had drifted from its place in his body, taking all his senses with it. His voice croaks with a scratching pain against his throat with every word. “I’m not hungry.”

But Hongjoong was being persistent, sliding into the seat next to him, inching closer. “You have to eat something, Hwachae. You’ve been exhausting your energy worrying. Food’s gonna help.”

“I’m not hungry, Hongjoong—“

 _“Seonghwa,”_ Hongjoong levels with him and Seonghwa catches on to the pressing tone of his voice. “You’re not being fair to your mother right now. You want her to be okay, but then you won’t even take care of yourself.”

Seonghwa stills, raising his brows at his unexpected words. 

But Hongjoong presses on. “If you want your mother to fight through the surgery, then you have to be strong too. If you’re worried about her, don’t you think she’s going to worry about you too? You can’t perform her surgery, so do the one thing you _can_ do to help her right now.”

He tears the plastic off, grabbing Seonghwa’s hand and wrapping it around the kimbap.

“You can eat.” Hongjoong pushes the snack towards, holding him in a narrowed gaze and tightened lips. 

He’s not the best at giving comfort to others, he knows that. In fact, he’s at a lost on what to do, not knowing how to stop the anxieties from shutting the other boy down. He’s only known to receive comfort from Seonghwa, not give it. So, he was going to do what he can too. 

But he knows how deeply lost Seonghwa is in his fears, in the worries that threaten to drown him with unrelenting worst-case scenarios. So, he softens his gaze. “Just—“ Hongjoong licks the dryness from his lips, worry of his own wrapping around his chest. “A few bites. If you feel like throwing up, then you can stop. But at least have three bites.”

For a moment, Hongjoong thinks he’s crossed a line.

Who was he to order Seonghwa around and tell him what to do? Especially at this time? When he’s worrying sick about the condition of his mother?

But then, Seonghwa lowers his head, nodding slowly. His eyes never leave Hongjoong’s, openly bare with raw emotions stuck to its corneas.

He was deathly afraid. Terrified. Upset.

Yet, he took a bite. Then three. Then down to the last pinch, almost choking on the seaweed that sticks to his throat, but Hongjoong instantly snaps open a bottle of herbal tea, letting him wash down the remnants of rice and most of his anxiety along with the drink. It helps. _He_ helps.

“Thank you… Joong,” Seonghwa whispers after downing the bottle and Hongjoong rubs down his back, offering a tender smile.

The rest of the wait floats bewitchingly, though Seonghwa wasn’t the mess he was before. He’d calmed down much more and his mind was beginning to clear, whispering only prayers for his mother’s wellbeing— _and maybe the hand secured in his was playing a part in keeping his anxieties down._

When the double doors slide open and the glimpse of a white coat catches his eye, Seonghwa jumps to his feet, eyes searching for answers he didn’t have on the doctor’s face.

“Guardian of Na Bora—”

“—Son,” Seonghwa couldn’t answer faster enough. The doctor nods.

“Your mother suffered a bad fall. We had to replace a few discs in her spine, but other than that—” and the doctor _finally_ spreads a smile “—your mother’s going to be fine.”

Those words were all he needed for the pressure in his chest to implode. Relief untangles through the loud, heavy breaths that rips from his lungs. Seonghwa staggers for balance which Hongjoong quickly provides, they listen as the doctor explain the rest of the necessities.

As soon as the doctor steps away, the pressure of his knees finally cave in and Seonghwa sinks himself into the plastic chairs like a loaded weight. No matter how many times he blinks, he’s there in the present. In the reality that cordoned off the paths to worst-case scenarios. That allowed his mother to live.

Seonghwa drops his head to the palm of his hands and the two share that moment in the hallway in silence.

It's painfull obvious that Seonghwa has always been the taller of the pair, but right then, he seemed so _small._ The sight of him curling into himself tugs the tightness around Hongjoong’s heart. 

He kneels in front of him, taking the two palms away from his face. When Seonghwa lifts his gaze, it’s Hongjoong’s glinting eyes that he meets. The soft, smile that quells him, piecing him back together.

Hongjoong pulls the sleeves of his coat over his palms, wiping them over the wetness around Seonghwa’s eyes and the surface of his cheeks. The gesture thrums the beating of his heart in his chest, softly, but growing in intensity the longer Seonghwa stares. 

It’s only then did the sudden realisation comes crashing down on him after the entire rollercoaster ride of emotions that he’d been riding through all day. Seonghwa leans forward, letting his forehead drop into the shelf of Hongjoong’s shoulder. The latter grows rigid, tensing at the sudden contact.

“I’m sorry, Joong.” Seonghwa’s voice barely comes out in a whisper, heavy with regret. 

There was a beat of pause before Hongjoong speaks again. “For… what?” 

“For today.” Seonghwa rubs the skin of his forehead against the rough material of Hongjoong’s coat. “You don’t know how happy I was when you agreed to come out with me today. I made such a big deal out of it. In the end, I just wasted your time.”

There was another beat pause and Seonghwa was getting comfortable resting his weight against Hongjoong’s shoulder. But Hongjoong pulls away and the heaviness of his head is forced back onto his own shoulders.

“You’re kidding, right?” Hongjoong slants an eyebrow, lips quirking in disbelief. “You didn’t waste my time, you idiot. You think anyone can _plan_ something like this would happen? It’s a good thing I was there when you got the call. God knows what you would’ve done if it weren’t for me.”

Seonghwa knows the latter was joking with the sarcastic tone of his voice, but his words carried truth in them. He truly _doesn’t_ know what he would’ve done.

Seonghwa would probably not have made it to the hospital if it weren’t for Hongjoong. He would’ve drowned in so much fear alone. By himself.

If it weren’t for him…

“It’s all thanks to you…” Seonghwa trails, his lips ghosting over a smile. His eyes can only focus on anywhere but Hongjoong as he speaks. “You took care of me. I wasn’t alone thanks to you. You’re really amazing, Hongjoong.”

Taking a deep breath, Seonghwa wills his eyes to focus on Hongjoong’s. There’s a hint of surprise covering the irises of the boy just a breath away from him. Hongjoong blinks owlishly at him, blankly, even as Seonghwa flits his eyes over every pinch of his features. 

His eyes. The curve of his brows. His lips.

“There’s so many reasons about you, Joong,” Seonghwa murmurs lowly, the heaviness coating from the tip of his head. “I hope you find them. All the reasons to love yourself.”

Seonghwa rests his heavy head back onto Hongjoong’s shoulder. 

_Because I think I’ve already fallen in love with you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seonghwa has so. many. emotions. 
> 
> Hope you liked this chapter as much as I loved writing it! Please leave kudos and comments about what you thought- they make me so happy and the time i spend writing so much more worthwhile!
> 
> p.s. been having the strongest crave to write a crime/fluff short fic so if that pops up, don't be shocked haha i'm not putting this story on hiatus but ykno... strongest. crave.
> 
> Anyways, see you in the next chapter~ (or work, who knows hoho)


	6. hurt me when im broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im early again!!! i finished this before they released the second teaser, which is a good thing bcos i lost my brain somewhere in that 1:15min video so if yall find it let me know thanks
> 
> anyways, enjoy~
> 
> TW // MENTAL BREAKDOWN / DRUGS / VERY MINOR (?) SELF-HARM

“You’re banned from train stations,” the thermos rattles where Seonghwa places it on the portable table. “And staircases too. No staircases unless I’m there to carry you on my back.”

He digs the rest of the containers from his bag, in them housing the freshly cooked meals he’d prepared for his mother from home himself. His mother eyes the containers, pouting childishly as she mutters. “It’s not even that bad…”

The last container hits the table a little too loudly with Seonghwa’s jaw hanging loose. “Not that _bad?_ Ma, you had to go for _surgery_. It’s going to be at _least_ three months before you fully recover! You’re back was already hurting before and now, it's like glass!” Seonghwa huffs, ignoring the puckering lip his mother juts from the corner of his eye as he drags a chair closer to the gurney.

“Peach, you’re worrying too much. Have you forgotten who your mother is?” His mother places her hands on her hips animatedly, shooting him a wink that Seonghwa can only deflect with a strong eye roll as he opens the containers, the heat rising through the air. “Your father used to cry whenever I beat him in arm wrestling. I’m built differently, baby.”

Seonghwa breaks the chopsticks, wrapping a heaping portion of japchae around it. He brings them up to his lips, blowing the heat off gently before shifting them towards his mother who cheerfully accepts. “You’re talking like a millennial now? Have you been using twitter again?”

His mother shrugs apathetically, her cheeks stuffed with noodles. “How else am I gonna stalk my son on this new boy he’s been seeing?”

The chopsticks freeze in the air, the noodles on them unwrapping and falling back into the container. When the words register, Seonghwa’s eyes widens briefly, before a gush of air and spit attacks his throat and he chokes. 

“Omo, omo, omo! Seonghwa-ya!”

Violent coughs expel from his lungs as his face flushes a deep red, reaching out for a bottled water. His mother pats his back as he releases embarrassing wheezes, his ears burning like frying pans. He gulps down on the bottle, mostly because he’s afraid that if he stops, his mother was going to have _that_ conversation with him, but his worst fears are realised when the liquid vanishes from the container from his quick relief.

“I never knew my son was such a poet.”

 _“Pleeaase stop,”_ Seonghwa groans, his head falling into the hands on his lap. 

But his mother doesn’t stop. In fact, his mother finds this _amusing_. “What was that about celestial beings?”

“Eomma!”

“Oh, wait! My favourite one!” His mother rolls her eyes to a top corner, her finger floating in the air as she recalls. Meanwhile, Seonghwa sinks further into his lap, the increasing gravity pulling him down as he screams into his palms. “What was it… _‘something in the universe shifts when I see him—“_

“Okay, that’s enough!” Seonghwa swings back, whipping out his phone in hurried ease. “What’s your username? I’m blocking you right now—“

Wet laughter fills the room as his mother throws herself forward, the pain in her back forgotten in the moment as she laughs herself red. “Okay, peach, okay. I’ll stop. I’ll stop.”

As much as the flames of embarrassment burns him, a quick smile sneaks its way to Seonghwa’s features seeing his mother like laugh. He’s not a child anymore. He knows when his mother feels burdened. This time with the guilt of landing herself in the hospital and leaving her son to worry and fickle over her when it should have been a mother’s duty to take care of her children. His heart breaks a every time he sees his mother through the window frame of the hospital door, head thrown back on the pillow and an arm to cover the wet tears. 

Being embarrassed is nothing if it means he can see his mother smile.

“But seriously, peach,” his mother says when the laughter settles down. “When were you going to tell me about this boy? Is it Wooyoung?”

“What? Wooyoung? As in our Woo?” His brows pinch together, wondering where his mother would get such an idea from. “Why would it be Woo? He’s like my best friend.”

“I—“ the words stop short on her tongue, but one look at the confusion on her son changes her mind. She shakes her head. “Well then, who is it?”

Strawberries kiss his cheeks in pale shades as his body tenses just thinking about him. He feels stupid when his heart picks up in speed. “It’s Hongjoong.”

“Oh?” Taken aback, his mother’s eyes widen. “Sled boy Hongjoong?” When Seonghwa meekly nods, her lips purse tightly. “You told me he’s a foul-mouthed trouble maker. Is my son mixing with the wrong people?”

“No!” Seonghwa’s quick to defend like he always does when it comes to Hongjoong. This time, though, the defensive words lose their way on his tongue. 

“Hongjoong’s not a…”

  
Hongjoong’s not…

  
Hongjoong isn’t…

  
Hongjoong’s… been acting differently.

  
Neither of them have acknowledged it, nor does Seonghwa want to admit it for sure, but lately, the two of them have entered a weird, push-pull relationship. Interaction between them has been unspokenly limited to whenever Hongjoong would initiate it in the first place, whilst Seonghwa is left to eat silence when he tries to reach out. 

On some days, he doesn’t even see Hongjoong anymore. Like a ghost who only exists in the whispers of his mind, Hongjoong’s lingering absence grows unsettlingly when he passes through the hallways, in classes or on the bus ride to school. The space where he used to be— _the empty air reserved only for Hongjoong—_ now a painful, silent reminder of him. 

He would wonder— _oh god, he would **wonder**_ — where Hongjoong would disappear to while he’s not by his side. But he’d been mistakenly granted the answers when he rounded a corner out of his way home to buy some groceries, until he notices _them_.

_Junghwan and his posse._

He doesn’t recognise the other men around the school’s newest delinquent, but he _does_ recognise the stature of a smaller man, caught within smoke and crude laughter.

But Seonghwa couldn’t pry his eyes away from the rolled cigarette slotted between Hongjoong’s fingers, touching his lips. 

Hongjoong doesn’t smoke.

He’s never had a cigarette— he’d admitted that to him before because ' _cigarettes have no use for me, Hwachae. I don’t need something like that to relax when being around you is relaxing enough.’_

But Hongjoong had been smoking then, amongst the other crowd of smokers, the toxic air escaping his lips in a careless manner that catches him short of breath, coughing. The others had laughed, barking snide comments on his inexperience.

It was clear that he had only begun smoking— but what did that _mean?_

That Hongjoong didn’t feel relaxed being around him anymore? 

“Seonghwa baby,” his mother pulls him out of his thoughts and Seonghwa meets the concern in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

What _is_ wrong? The question had been eating him up every time he catches his mind slipping, thinking why the empty space next to him feels so cold.

Why had Hongjoong traded time with him for people who influenced bad decisions.

 _Who_ Hongjoong really is.

Reckless? Inconsiderate?

But Hongjoong is more than a few simple words can comply. 

Because Hongjoong’s not a bad _person_. He’s only making some bad decisions, and humans do that. Everybody makes mistakes.

But what puzzles him most is that Hongjoong _knows._ He knows about the mistakes he's making. Seonghwa can't help but think that sometimes he was doing them on purpose _because_ he knows it's wrong- and he wants someone to stop him.

“Eomma,” with a distant look in his eyes, Seonghwa answers. “Hongjoong’s special to me.”

Because this rebellious attitude is only a mask of what’s hiding underneath. 

Because, shedding the iron skin coated around it, Hongjoong held a golden heart- a side he hides from others that shows that he actually _cares._

Seonghwa considers himself to be one of the lucky ones who's witnessed this. In the time that Hongjoong had been with him, by his side, radiating comfort when he needed it most whilst his mother was neck deep in surgery with no news of her current state. Then, a few days after, Hongjoong would break the silent drought in their texts and ask him if his mother’s alright.

 **joongie:** wish her a good recovery  
 **joongie:** what abt u

 **seonghwa:** me? i'm fine. as long as she's alright.

 **joongie:** that’s good.

 **seonghwa:** what about you joong? how are you doing?  
 **seonghwa:** i’m worried about you too. we haven’t been talking much.  
 **seonghwa:** please talk to me.  
 **seonghwa:** you know i’m here for you right?

Sure, his heart would crumble when his texts are left on seen with no more interaction between them, but the thought that Hongjoong had actually reached out to him to ask was fluttering his heart enough— and Seonghwa’s selfish heart wants to believe that Hongjoong actually cares about _him_.

He didn’t sleep that night. His heart had been fuelling self-indulgent ideas in his mind.

“Hongjoong is someone I can’t let go of,” Seonghwa replies shyly, his fingers curling in his lap. His eyes flicker between the ground and the knowing smirk on his mother's face

“You really like him, don’t you peach?” his mother relaxes into a fond smile.

“Oh, it’s worse than that, Eomma,” Seonghwa releases a breathy chuckle, the heaviness settling in his chest wearing him down. 

“I love him.”

* * *

It’s too loud.

The silence is too fucking _loud_.

Hongjoong paces in the darkness for a while, letting the sweat stick his feet against the wooden floor as he pads around. The floors were a mess of clothes, books and whatever had been lying around in the room, all thrown in a hurricane mess in his frustration to bleed sound into the room. The walls had been especially loud today, mocking him for his loneliness in this cold, dark apartment alone— and Hongjoong was losing his _mind_.

His fingers run wild in his hair, scratching the scalp beneath just to _feel_ the grating tips of his fingernails against his skull. His shallow breathing in heavy loads pierce his lungs while the cold air stings his eyes. Yet, heat burns through his layers of clothes as sweat slicks the surface of his skin, his face glistening under the peaks of moonlight. 

The snow's blowing particularly heavy tonight.

His heart is pounding in his ears, but the sound is overbearing. He doesn’t want to hear himself. It’s too loud in his ears, throbbing like a hammer against his brain and he wants it to stop. Stop being so loud. Stop being so _heavy_.

He needs something.

He needs to _feel_.

Balling his hands into fists and pounding them against his chest does nothing. Even when he sinks his teeth into the palm of his hands, it brings him nothing. Even when the crisp air pricks his eyes with needle-like tears, he feels _nothing_.

_seonghwa—_

Nodes of frustrations pools within his chest because no, he can’t.

_need seonghwa—_

Hongjoong stops pacing at the foot of his bed, hunching over with his hands fisting the sheets. His traitorous brain whispers desires he can’t give in to, no matter how desperately the cries become. 

He’s not doing it. He’s not going to suffer through that pain again. 

Seonghwa doesn’t need him. Seonghwa can live well without him. 

It’s him. _He_ isn’t worthy of Seonghwa’s affection.

He _himself_ isn’t worth the time and effort.

_He isn’t worth it._

Hongjoong swipes the sheets from his bed, the burn against his fingers rivals the heat rising in his chest as he screams. The sheets fly across the room landing in a heaping pile of his clothes that had suffered the same fate. Hongjoong slams his back against the mattress, his chest heaving from exhaustion as he stares blankly at the bottomless ceiling. Taking a moment to breathe, the room suddenly fades into nothingness, white noise buzzing in his mind. White noise and silence.

When he shifts his feet against the cold floorboard, something grates against the skin of his heel. Strength doesn't come to him to get up, but an curiosity does. Hongjoong prods himself up by an arm, inching over the bed to see what it was.

His eyes land on them— that bloated, pocket-sized ziplock bag.

* * *

Seonghwa’s eyes remain rooted to the dark screen, watching nothing but the reflection of the gloom on his face staring back at him. Nothing lights the screen, no matter how much he prays for it to. He battles with himself, each question enticing another.

_He should at least text him, right? Just to let him know that he’s there. That he’ll wait. That he’ll always be ready to listen to him._

His fingers reach out, barely skinning the surface of his phone when a hot, crispy skin of a chicken drumstick slaps him _squarely_ across the cheek.

“Ow— Woo!” Seonghwa’s hand flies to the patch of heat and crumbs on his cheek. His eyes raise to shoot a widened stare at the boy in front of him, who's blissfully chomping down on the chicken leg that had briefly met his cheek earlier. “What the hell? Did you just slap me with chicken?”

Wooyoung merely shrugs, licking the crumbs from his fingers. “You called me over to distract you from Hongjoong, didn’t you? This is me distracting you.”

He’s not wrong. Seonghwa did invite him over, but it was under an entirely different reason. He’d only asked Wooyoung if he wanted to catch up over some chicken and beer, granted that they haven’t been talking as much as they used to since he’d been preoccupying his time with Hongjoong. But somewhere along the way, Wooyoung must have figured out the other intention of him being there. That’s not to say Seonghwa didn’t feel guilty as hell.

“I’m sorry, Woo,” Seonghwa shakes his head in shame, shifting closer to the boy. “You were saying?”

But instead of replying, Wooyoung simply stares at him, his features washing over a blank expression. Even as Seonghwa shifts under his gaze, his eyes remain distant.

“Uh, Woo?”

“I don’t understand you, hyung,” Wooyoung breaks the sudden silence, though his gaze unwavering. “If he’s being so difficult, then why are you still trying so hard?”

Seonghwa doesn’t even need to ask to know that he was talking about Hongjoong. They’ve had this conversation before. Every time he’d come and complain to Wooyoung about his own struggles in trying to help Hongjoong— _because keeping them pent up would surely breed bad feelings, and Seonghwa didn’t want that—_ but each time, he'd end up feeling freshly motivated once again. Because every time Wooyoung asks, he’s made to revisit the reason why he’s doing it all in the first place. Why he's trying so hard.

“Because Hongjoong thinks he’s so far from saving,” Seonghwa answers, the barest of smiles finds its way on his lips. “Because he thinks nobody cares about him but he’s wrong. I care about him. A lot too.”

There’s a pulsating sensation that thrums in his veins every time he thinks of him. Of Hongjoong’s round, twinkling eyes when they land on something exciting. Of the cherry lips that curl freely in the bliss moment of happiness. And the drumming of his own heartbeat when he knows that _he’s_ the reason for them.

“But doesn’t it get exhausting?” Wooyoung tears him away from his thoughts, and when Seonghwa meets his eyes again, there’s something different about the look in them. 

“What do you mean?” Seonghwa cocks his head, curious when Wooyoung leans closer with determination in his eyes.

“Doesn’t it get exhausting when all he does is push you away?”

Seonghwa doesn’t know what he’s trying to get at. Maybe this was the alcohol in Wooyoung buzzing. Maybe he’s had one too many pieces of chicken.

“Well, maybe sometimes—“

“Then focus on me,” Wooyoung cuts him off abruptly, inching closer until the barest touch of their knees collides. Seonghwa, on the other hand, remains still, stunned with the words spilling from his friend’s mouth. “Forget about Hongjoong for tonight, hyung. Just focus on me.”

Speech lost its way on Seonghwa’s tongue. He’s never seen Wooyoung like this before. Positioned close enough with his hands lightly gripping his arms, he could almost count the space between his lashes and hear his soft breaths so crisply. He’s never seen Wooyoung’s eyes so determined— so full of _want_ that Seonghwa’s taken aback at this new persona that’s washed over his best friend.

For a silent minute, his breath hangs in the air, unsure of what exactly Wooyoung wants to hear from him at this moment. How was he going to answer if he’s not even sure what Wooyoung was asking of him? 

_Forget Hongjoong. Focus on me._

They were best friends for the longest time, brothers that ran deeper than blood. 

The earliest memory serving him was the image of Wooyoung swallowing a coin at the playground, to which he had the unruly duty of saving him from choking— a weird experience for a child being of only eight years old then. They’re the terrible twos, the ones who vibe differently from others than when they were with each other, talking in a language only they would understand.

But right now, Wooyoung was speaking in a frequency that’s different to his.

“Wo-Wooyoung ah,” Seonghwa wills for the words to form, but they shy away whenever he flickers his gaze back to Wooyoung. His mind runs a mile a minute, desperately searching for the words that would never come.

That’s when the doorbell slices through the apprehension in the air, tearing the relief from his lungs as he pulls himself away from the tension between them.

“That must be the tteokbokki,” Seonghwa clears his throat, getting up as his eyes dart around every inch of the room but Wooyoung. He swipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, feeling the flush of his neck radiating up his cheeks. “Man, I was wondering what was taking them so long. Gosh, I’m starving. I’ll be right back, Woo.”

There’s no hesitance in his steps as he rushes towards the front door. Seonghwa’s glad that he’s literally _saved by the bell_ in a time like this, but the delivery person has to have the _worst_ patience for working in customer service with the way they were relentlessly ringing the bell.

“Alright, dude, chill. I’m right here—“ Swinging the door open, he freezes when he comes face to face with the unmistakable person in front of him.

“Hongjoong?”

“Hwachae!” Hongjoong throws him a frenzied smile, wrapping his arms around him and tipping on his toes to squeeze their bodies knit tightly together— the action so foreign coming from Hongjoong that it took him a moment to realise that he was giving him a _hug_. “I knew you’d be here! I knew it! I knew it!”

“Um… you knew I’d be at my own house? At eleven pm? On a school night?” Seonghwa cocks his head, confusion pinching his brows together. Snow dusted the top of Hongjoong's head and Seonghwa brings a hand up to pat them off. But when he feels a sharp intake of breath, the ticklish sensations of Hongjoong _sniffing_ his neck, every muscle in his body turns rigid. “Uh, Joong, are you okay?”

Pulling back harshly, Hongjoong delivers him a toothy smile, crinkling his eyes. “Guess what I did today?” Giggles threaten to spill from his mouth, though Hongjoong tries his best to keep his lips sealed. He fails anyways, laughter ripping from his chest as he leans into Seonghwa, who grips his hips to keep him steady. Amidst the stifling laughter, Hongjoong rests his lips on the base of his ear, hot fanning breath sending shivers down his spine.

In the harshest whisper, Hongjoong lips curl into a smile. “I did drugs.”

  
The commotion from the front door travels through the small apartment and Wooyoung _knows_ a delivery person would be the last person at the door right then. When he turns the corner, his assumptions were confirmed— _and maybe a small fire lit ablaze in his chest—_ when his eyes land on his one sworn enemy.

“Kim Hongjoong?”

The two heads turn at the gravelling tone of his voice. Immediately, Hongjoong perks up, his eyes lit like Christmas lights as he skips forward, almost stumbling over his own feet.

“Jung Wooyoung! Jung Wooyoung’s here too!” Hongjoong throws another uncharacteristic hug, wrapping his arms around Wooyoung. A sharp breath escapes the other when Hongjoong collides their bodies together and everything in his mind blanks.

_What the hell’s going on._

Even though his eyes search Seonghwa for answers, he could only decipher the worry on his face. Lips pulled tightly with knitted brows, Seonghwa locks his gaze on Hongjoong before they flicker to the confusion on Wooyoung’s face.

Though before he can even ask, Hongjoong detaches himself, but not without leaving a quick peck on his cheek. The sudden sensation against his skin sending an electrifying chill through his bones as Wooyoung stares wide-eyed at the older boy. 

“Wooyoung, you handsome devil! Now it’s a party!” Hongjoong laughs, staggering past him and into the apartment, leaving Wooyoung and Seonghwa frozen in their places.

What felt like minutes had passed before the clogs in his brain begin to work again and Wooyoung whips his head towards Seonghwa. “Hyung, what the hell’s wrong with him?”

The older boy doesn’t respond immediately, only the sound of Hongjoong’s scratchy singing tuning into their ears. Taking slow steps closer to him, his shoulders sagging a little, Seonghwa stares vacantly into the apartment.

“He’s on drugs, Woo,” Seonghwa mumbles softly. Hearing the words from his own mouth, his head snaps, feeling the darkening flow of blood pulsating through his veins. He doesn’t hide the worry in his voice when he turns to Wooyoung, “He’s high. Woo, I don’t know what to do. What do I do? I can’t— I don’t know how to deal with this. I-I don’t—“

The agonising nerves still plague through his veins. He’s never dealt with someone on drugs before. He’s never had to deal with _this_ Hongjoong before. This was whole different territory. Even though he knows he can trust that Hongjoong wouldn’t do anything to hurt him, he still can’t shake the feeling— the _fear_ that something _could_ go wrong that he’s not prepared to deal with.

“Hwa hyung, relax,” Wooyoung intercepts before Seonghwa falls into panic, already noticing the edge in his voice peering through. He slides a gentle touch to his arm. “It’s okay. I’m here. I won’t leave you.” When the tremble of his irises begin to sober up, Wooyoung gives his hyung another reassuring nod. “I’ll help you. It’s alright. My parents made me take this narcotics course, so I know a few things that could help.”

With the uncertainty of Hongjoong hanging off a balance, Seonghwa’s breathes in relief hearing his words. Thank God for Wooyoung. “Thanks, Woo.”

“Yah! What are you guys doing! I’m taking your beer if you don’t come here!”

Immediately, Wooyoung springs into action, slipping away from Seonghwa as he shuffles swiftly into the living room. By the time Seonghwa enters the room, he sees Wooyoung hanging the beer can over Hongjoong’s head, who’s only pouting with his arms cross. 

_“You_ should not be having any alcohol while you’re still high,” Wooyoung tells him off, placing the beer can on the table and shoving Hongjoong away from the mess of chicken and beer cans on the floor. “Mixing drugs and alcohol is dangerous. Go have water instead if you want to drink so much.”

Seonghwa blinks owlishly, feet rooted in place as he watches Wooyoung guide Hongjoong to the kitchen, seating him down by the island before pouring a glass of water for him. Fancy words about medicine spill out of his mouth as he hands over the glass to Hongjoong, making sure that he downs the drink. 

It’s the first time he’d seen his friend appear so commanding. Being the oldest of the two, Seonghwa was used to filling the role of being the one in charge. He was always the one who’s more responsible, carried more maturity and looked after the other like a second mother. Wooyoung was the cheeky one; rebelling and getting into trouble was his hobby.

Maybe Seonghwa was wrong. Maybe he had been overly pretentious in thinking they had certain roles when such a thing didn’t exist at all. 

He’d been depriving Wooyoung of the acknowledgement he deserves— that Wooyoung is his own person, and not the same little kid he met at the playground.

“What drug did you take?”

“Hmmm… what do you think, doctor?” Hongjoong giggles, the liquid almost spilling from the cup.

 _“Kim Hongjoong,”_ Wooyoung stares him down sternly and Seonghwa’s never seen his best friend so serious before. “I’m not playing with you right now. We need to know what drug you took and how much.”

Hongjoong pauses for a moment, glancing briefly at Seonghwa that causes the latter cocking his head in concern. Then, he leans over the island and whispers to Wooyoung, hand cupping over his mouth. The curiosity burns him as Seonghwa tries to decipher the words from Wooyoung’s expression, though nothing crawls through the stolidness shrouding his features.

Wooyoung sighs as Hongjoong pulls away, giggling. Questions already ready to spill from his mouth, but he stops short.

That’s when Seonghwa notices it.

The blood.

“Hongjoong! Your arm!” Seonghwa bounces forward, his voice almost startling the two. “You— How did you—“

Jutting his lower lip, Hongjoong lifts his arms, inspecting them as if he hadn’t even noticed it himself. He turns one around and when he finds nothing, he turns the other, a bubbled laughter escapes his lips. There was a slit in the sleeve of his denim jacket, blood already soaking the material around it. “Oh damn, how did that happen?”

Wooyoung frowns, slanting his brows. “Hwa hyung, do you have a first aid kit?” Seonghwa nods, already heading towards the pantry as Wooyoung slides around the island. “Hongjoong hyung, can you take off your jacket?”

Hongjoong scrunches his nose, still inspecting the injury. “I think it got my shirt too.”

“That’s okay. You can use one of mine,” the words leave his mouth without a second thought, but when they register, Seonghwa freezes, the tips of his ears burning. 

“Ooo, making me wear your clothes again, Hwachae?” Hongjoong sniggers, shedding his clothes. “Not the first time you want to see me in them.”

“Again?” He hears Wooyoung questioning, though he doesn’t dare look back as he scurries off into his bedroom.

His fingers trembles as he searches for a shirt. When he finally decides on one— _one_ _that, and Seonghwa prays to every deity he’s ever known, won’t look good on Hongjoong—_ he grabs the medical kit from the pantry and returns the two. He can feel Wooyoung’s burning eyes on him but he's not willing to check, busying himself with unpacking the medical supplies as he silently prays.

The next few moments dies into white noise and Hongjoong’s out of tune whistling. Seeing as Wooyoung, being more medically trained than he was, was busy with tending to Hongjoong’s wounds, Seonghwa didn’t want to feel completely useless. He decides to boil some ramyun to fill the time and their stomachs— _and partially because the deities have ignored his prayers since Hongjoong still looks insanely good in his ugliest shirt._ So, they carried on in silence- until Wooyoung releases a bitter moan.

“Hongjoong hyung, you need to sit still. I can’t apply the antiseptic with you moving like a train. God,” Wooyoung groans in frustration, though it only seems to egg the older boy on. 

With a glint of mischief in his eyes, Hongjoong waves his arm even more, tauntingly snickering when Wooyoung tries to catch his arm with irritation tugging his lips. When his hand swipes at nothing, Hongjoong laughing at another failed attempt, Wooyoung slams the tube on the table.

“That’s it, Kim Hongjoong. I’m done with you. You’re so frustrating. If you want it, you can do it yourself,” Wooyoung grumbles, sliding the medicine towards him. 

Caught off guard by the sudden outburst, Hongjoong stares blankly at him, any hint of playfulness in his features lost. Flickered off like a switch. Nothing but the heavy irritation pervading from Wooyoung fills the tension that even Seonghwa's pressured to turn around towards them.

For another long moment, Hongjoong anchors his eyes on Wooyoung. He stills rigidly that, as the seconds ticked on, Seonghwa was starting to grow nervous at his quietness.

“You sound like them,” Hongjoong whispers, before turning away with a humourless chuckle leaving his lips. “You sound exactly like my parents.”

It was a low whisper. Even the boiling water defeats the volume of his voice, but Seonghwa had caught it. He heard every word.

This was the first time that Hongjoong had ever brought up about his parents. Seonghwa didn’t have a fond memory of the only time that he did, years ago when Hongjoong had first moved into his neighbourhood. He remembers the clashing and banging coming from his household, the shouts that escape the front door when he first talked to the boy. Ever since then, he never knew what happened between Hongjoong and his parents. He’d always just assumed that he just detached himself from the family feud.

But maybe… maybe that wasn’t the case.

“Hongjoong, what happened with your parents?” Seonghwa strides slowly, not wanting to startle him as he inches closer. “What happened in the past few years, Joong? Did something happen with them?”

_Did **they** hurt you?_

Hongjoong holds his stare. Between the creased worry in his gaze and the slight frown on his lips, Hongjoong is almost tempted to tell him the truth. _Almost_. Instead, he drops his head, dull laughter leaving his lips. He swipes a hand through his hand, leg bouncing when he looks out the window past the two. 

The snow mocks him. They gloat as they crash against the window. They tell him what he already knows.

“I’m a maniac, aren’t I?” The corner of his lips tug cruelly into a smile. Yet, they don’t match the gloomy reflection of his eyes. “I _destroy_ people.”

Like an arrow through his chest, the words pierce through Wooyoung and slices through to the pit of his stomach. He’s heard that before. He’s _said them_ before. His fingers curl around the medicine tube, guilt plaguing through his veins.

“What does that mean?” Seonghwa asks, frown deepening as he steps closer. But even when Hongjoong turns his attention to him, his eyes bore meaninglessly through him, as if he’d taken himself off the wheel of his own body and they're left asking the shell of this person— taking Seonghwa back to the time they’d just met.

“Can I use the bathroom?” Hongjoong asks instead, doing what he always does when they enter conversations that cut too deep. Running away from them. “I promise when I come back, you can patch me up. I won’t move.” When Seonghwa doesn’t relent, Hongjoong rolls his eyes seeing the suspicion on his face, but he has to shut them tight from the waves forming too rapidly in his vision. “Don’t worry. I won’t do anything stupid. I just really need to pee right now. That fella over there made me drink that whole glass of water.”

The two of them watch as the frame of Hongjoong’s back disappears into the bathroom, the creak and lock of the door grating against their ears. Stillness locks them in place, unmoving even as they hear the tap run.

“Hwa hyung,” Wooyoung steals him from eyeing the bathroom door. “He’s… gonna be okay, right?”

Seonghwa sees it. The regret in his eyes. The way his shoulders tense and his thumbs play with the tube in his hands. He knows this reaction because it's the same one he had when Hongjoong had confided in him the night they met in the blizzard. The guilty feeling of having judged too quickly- of shutting down a cry for help.

“He will be. Give him time,” Seonghwa reassures him, breathing in slowly before offering a smile. “He thinks he’s alone in his battles. That’s why I’ve been trying so hard to keep him close. He has people who care about him, he just doesn’t know it yet.”

Through downcast eyes, Wooyoung doesn’t feel the guilt leave him at all. But he sighs. “The drug should wear off in a few hours. He said he only took half a tablet so he’ll probably feel like crashing soon. But hyung…” Wooyoung trails and Seonghwa tries to follow his gaze. “Is it that bad? Why did he choose to get high? What’s he trying to run away from?”

The sound of the toilet flush breaks their conversation, the tap soon running again before the door to the bathroom opens, forcing their hushed conversation to end. The two continue to trail their eyes after Hongjoong, who trudges to the seat he sat in before, his expression as blank as a paper and as hard as stone. 

Wooyoung sighs when Hongjoong doesn’t say a word. None of them do. Instead, he picks up the tube and starts working on the now pliant boy. Seonghwa continues to watch them, the boiling— _and probably burnt_ — soup playing at the back of his mind. Seeing Hongjoong like this, he feels as if they’ve gone back in time, with the younger unrelenting in his solemn reticence, forcing him to decipher whatever was running through his pretty head with ugly thoughts.

But the longer Seonghwa stared, the more he realised that Hongjoong wasn’t just staring distantly into space. They were watching, never moving, roped into the same spot— and when Seonghwa trails his gaze, he sees it too.

The snow falling from outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pheww anyways-
> 
> i did a lot of research on drugs (DONT DO THEM KIDS!) so remind me to clear my search history just in case. ykno.
> 
> but what do yall think of this chapter!! please leave your comments cos i wanna know what yall think!! (i think i gave a lot away abt hj's past this chapter hyukhyuk) but yes!! comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!!
> 
> till the next chapter~


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